


Diana Granger and the Warm Lizards

by the_whore_of_pastry



Series: Diana Granger & the Warm Lizards [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Basilisks, Chance the Twat, Cult, Dragons, Gen, Interhouse Friendships, Run, dragons are not ideal pets, first fanfic nerves, more dragons, no judging here, sibling OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 93,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_whore_of_pastry/pseuds/the_whore_of_pastry
Summary: Although JK Rowling initially planned to give Hermione a sister, she never came to be. This is our idea of what her time at Hogwarts might have been like - with the tensions between Houses, the growing threat of Voldemort's rise, and the beginnings of a dangerous cult that endangers those both in and outside the school. Oh, and there are dragons. Lots of dragons.





	1. Hogwarts Bound

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a collaborative work on a shared account! This our first published fic together so bear with the nerves. Awareness the idea's been done before, but we figured we could do our own spin on it. Tried at least. Oh and dragons. Dragons. Dragons. More dragons. Hope you enjoy :)  
> M & C
> 
> Also posted on Fanfiction.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12686153/1/Diana-Granger-and-the-Warm-Lizards

It's just hit midnight when the owl arrives. Had we been asleep, the incessant tapping of its beak against my window would have woken us up, but as it happens, Hermione and I have been waiting up for this exact moment, too tense to sleep. I can hardly believe it's actually here.

"Open it!'"She tells me, her brown eyes wide. "Go on!"

I don't need telling twice, scrambling to the window and undoing the latch. The owl, a graceful barn with snow-white wings, hops onto the windowsill and tilts its left leg towards me. A rolled-up scroll dangles in front of my fingers.

"There's a letter!" I tell my sister.

"Of course there is!" She says, impatient with excitement. "Open it, open it!"

I fumble to untie the scroll and unfurl it with shaking fingers. It all comes down to this.

"'Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' I'm in!" I squeal, jumping up and down.

"I'm proud of you, Diana!" Hermione stands up and wraps me in a tight hug. "I always knew you'd get in, of course." She says, her tone returning to one of its usual confidence.

"Did you?" I grin. "What was with the nervous pacing ten minutes ago, then?"

"You'll need a wand, of course." Hermione says briskly, scanning the list that came with the letter and completely ignoring my teasing. "Textbooks, quills, ink…. Oh, and school robes; Madam Malkins' is best for that. Potions kit, too. You can come with me to Diagon Alley on Wednesday."

Excitement ripples in my stomach at the thought, but before I can say anything my sister's talking again. "And you're allowed a pet - an owl, a cat or a toad."

I blink at her imploringly. "... Baby dragon?"

Hermione shoots me a withering look. "Don't you start. I'm not having another Norbert situation."

"I'll never forgive you for not getting me a picture." I tell her, thinking wistfully of the baby Norwegian Ridgeback she told me about last year.

"Maybe this will help to ease your pain," she says, drawing a large, flat parcel, dripping with ribbons. "It's technically your birthday now, after all, and I wanted to wait until after you'd received your good news." She grins at me and hands it over; it's hard, rectangular - almost certainly a book. Well, that's certainly in my sister's alley.

"Thanks!" I give her a one-armed hug, then tear into the paper. From the red-striped shreds I pull a hardback book - I was right, then - flip it over and gasp in excitement.  _Fire and Fang: An Encyclopaedia of Dragons._ A huge green beast flaps its way across the cover: breath-taking, beautiful.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal again, like a five-year-old on a sugar rush. I can't help it, though; I've never loved a present more. I throw my arms round my sister, still clinging to my gift.

"You're very welcome!" she laughs at my exuberance. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it." I say seriously, leafing through. Never have moving pictures been more beneficial; every page is vivid and beautiful, so engaging I feel as if I could fall right into them. The only time I've ever seen a dragon in flight before is in a couple of newspaper clippings Hermione sent me last year - they amazed me enough, but the small black-and-white images pale in comparison to the artistry I'm holding now.

"I've never seen you so engrossed in a book before," my sister says, smiling, and I reluctantly drag my eyes away from the scarlet dragon I'm gazing at.

"Don't get too used to it," I grin. "I don't think I'm going to be rivalling you for time spent in the library."

"Honestly, Diana, I don't spend  _that_ much time in the library…"

"Course not." I grin. "Well, I guess I'll find out in a few days, won't I?" Nerves ripple through my stomach faintly as I speak, but they're drowned out by my continued buzz of excitement.

"Yes, you will," Hermione says, then she stops and looks me in the eye, intently. I'm about to ask what's wrong, or make another joke, when she speaks again. "I'm really happy you're coming with me this year, Diana."

I suddenly feel calmer, less giddy; I'm about to embark on something massive and unexpected. I make a silent promise to myself:  _I will not mess this up._

I look into my sister's familiar brown eyes and return her smile. "Me too."

* * *

When I make my way downstairs to the kitchen the next morning, my whole family is gathered round the table. Hermione is reading, looking up from her book only to wink at me knowingly, my mum is setting down crockery and my dad neatening a little pile of presents at the centre of the table. As I walk in, my parents erupt into a flurry of congratulations.

"Happy birthday, Diana!" Mum says, dropping a kiss on my forehead.

"Eleven today!" Dad says, ruffling my halo of frizz affectionately.

"Thanks!" I hug them both, but disentangle myself quickly. I'm impatient to tell them about last night. "I have some  _very_ important news..." I announce, trying to create an air of mystery. In the corner, Hermione shakes her head in despair and hides behind her book, probably so no one sees her laughing at my inability to sound even remotely serious right now.

"Ah, yes! The great Hogwarts verdict!" Dad says dramatically.

"So, tell us! Did a letter come for you in the night?"

I pause, smile. "Wellll…"

"Diana!"

"I got in!" I exclaim. "An owl came just after midnight and - I got in!"

"Well done, darling!" Mum exclaims.

"And another magical Granger!" Dad smiles proudly.

There's a moment's happy silence, broken only by the whistling kettle. I look at their faces and know from eleven years' experience that they're both trying their hardest not to laugh.

"...Yeah, you two both knew already, didn't you?" I grin.

"Your wizarding potential clearly doesn't extend to celebrating quietly, sweetheart." My mum says wryly. "I'm sorry, though - we wanted you to be able to tell us!"

"Don't worry, you had excellent surprised faces." I laugh. I can't recall ever being more excited than this, not since I was very small. "I'm going to Hogwarts!"

* * *

"What next?" Hermione asks, scanning her neatly written list (neatly written by her, of course). She's definitely talking to herself; I'm of no practical use to anyone right now. An hour's shopping still hasn't dulled the childlike excitement that hit me the second we entered Diagon Alley. It's the first time I've ever been fully immersed in the wizarding world, and it definitely wasn't subtle. The mass of cloaks and pointed hats, the incessant hoot of owls, the whimsically named shops and visual prominence of broomsticks, cauldrons and wands are all fascinating to behold.

"You need a wand." My sister decides, breaking me out of my reverie. My excitement intensifies; this definitely beats buying robes.

"Ollivander's?" I guess.

"Just around here," Hermione guides me around the corner, dodging a knot of people kneeling next to a spilled cauldron, and stops outside a little shop. I look up -  _'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC in Diagon Alley'_ , reads the sign above our heads. A slight nervousness stirs in my stomach.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Hermione asks, seeing my face.

"No, it's OK." I say decidedly. She was alone when her wand chose her - I know I want the same thing.

"Alright - I'll go and get some parchment and ink for us both, and meet you back here." She smiles bracingly. "Good luck!"

I nod, inhale deeply and push open the rickety door. Inside, the air is thick with the sweet, earthy scent of wood and the sharp tang of polish. Shelf open shelf are crammed to the brim with a mass of narrow boxes, but there is no one in sight. "Hello?" I call, a little uncertainly.

There's a rustling sound, and an old man with pale skin, silvery eyes and a shock of white hair emerges from beneath the counter, hauling up an armful of boxes.

"Hello...Mr Ollivander?" I guess nervously. "Could I - could I buy a wand, please?"

"You're in the right shop," he smiles faintly. "What's your name?"

"Diana Granger."

He studies me for a moment. "Granger...sister of a Miss Hermione Granger?"

I nod. "She's just outside."

He doesn't seem to hear me; instead his face takes on a dreamy, distant expression. "Nice wand, hers. 10 3/4 inches, vinewood...dragon heartstring." He murmurs, as if reminiscing about an old friend. "Now, for you," He turns to me suddenly and fixes me with an intense gaze. "Something similar, I think...in the same vein..."

As I open up the box he begins explaining what I'm looking at - a huge relief or I'd have to parrot questions that wouldn't really benefit either of us. "Oakwood, 11 inches, the same dragon heartstring as your sister's!"

My stomach lurches into a knot of excitement at the mentioning of dragon heartstring. I'd badgered Hermione in an insistently annoying manner when she'd explained her wand to me - specifically, I wanted to know if the dragon said heartstring had been supplied by was dead at the time of it being plucked out. The idea of such beautiful creatures being slaughtered - similar to elephant tusk harvesting for piano keys or tiger skins for fancy décor - had made me sick to my stomach until she'd reassured me about the humane nature they were acquired.

Twisting the wand nervously in my hands, I can't help but smile at the man who's grinning at me broadly, something worryingly akin to maniacal delight glinting in those silvery eyes.

"Go on, go on!" He insists. "Give it a test! I have to make sure you've procured the correct wand, after all!"

My smile widens - the weight of the wood in my hand seems to officialise my status somehow. I  _am_ a witch. No matter what anyone might say to me, this is proof I belong in this world, just like Hermione does. I swirl the wand in my right hand, allowing it to glide through the air in an elegant manner, the way I used to wave paintbrushes around when I was younger. I wasn't anything special when it came to painting, but I had an affinity for twirling around the brushes like hairy batons.

With a tentative flick of my wrist, small, pale blue sparks begin to bubble at the end of the wand, shooting out like shimmering bullets and letting off little whistling sounds.

"Well, look at that!" Ollivander exclaims, clapping his hands together in delight. "You couldn't have asked for any better than that - and on the first try, too!"

I stare down at the wand in my hand, a smile spreading over my face. It already feels natural to hold - almost like it's part of me, as unequivocally _mine_  as my limbs. I tear my eyes away, somewhat reluctantly. "I'll buy this one,please!"

"Of course, of course!" He springs into action, plucking the wand from my hand and nestling it back in its box. "That'll be seven Galleons, my dear."

I hand over the gold Hermione collected for me earlier and take the box, already dying to tear into it and retrieve my wand. "Thank you so much!"

"You're very welcome, very welcome..." Ollivander smiles vaguely, already retreating behind the counter again. "Goodbye now!"

I duck out of the door, still grinning all over.

"You look happy," Hermione says, coming over to meet me with a mass of shopping bags. "What have you got?"

"Oakwood, 11 inches, the same dragon heartstring as yours!" I open the box and she peers in, her brown eyes lighting up at the sight of the wand -  _my_  wand, I think enthusiastically.

"Brilliant," she murmurs, then looks up. "What did you think of Mr Ollivander?" She asks suddenly, grinning slightly.

"Well...he certainly seems to know his wands...got this for me on the first try!"

"You're lucky! It took such a long time to find mine..." She smiles fondly at her own wand, just peeking out her pocket. "Anyway, I think we've done everything, shopping-wise!"

On turning back down the alley, I'm glad that I've linked my arm through Hermione's. The street has become flooded with witches and wizards, many of whom are dragging children around my own age through the streets, muttering about the stresses of the back-to-school rush. I'm only thankful my older sister manages to be so confident as she pushes us both through the crowds with her indignant refusal to get trampled.

It's only as we're beginning to reach the end of the street that Hermione stops dead in her tracks and I almost end up walking right into her, forgetting to pause.

I go to her to ask why she's stopped before I avert my eyes to the path in front of her and Hermione's reasoning becomes self-explanatory. There's a tall, slender young wizard stood in front of us who looks around sixteen years old. He has an attractive olive tone to his skin - the sort that isn't just the bronze you get from a holiday - and his cloud of dark brown hair adds some golden tints to his complexion. From the side, his jawline is strong, his nose sleek, lips rounded and full. He looks like the heartthrob stereotypes most girls fall for...and even I have to admit I'm a little awestruck, which is helped by the modern dark colour scheme his clothes are composed of.

He seems to realise we're stood there and turns, revealing the thoroughly handsome nature of his face in its entirety as his eyes come to rest on us. "I'm so sorry!" His voice holds traces of a French accent to it and his eyes linger on Hermione for a bit. "Wait..." He smiles wryly. "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" He asks.

She nods fervently with a slightly dazed expression, then seems to pull herself together. "Yes, yes, that's me."

"You helped swipe the House Cup for Gryffindor last year, right?" He asks.

She looks even more flustered at the mention of her achievements. "Um, well, I suppose so!"

He grins. "Very impressive, if a little annoying for the rest of us! I'm Gwaine Marchelle LaBrie, by the way."

"Good to meet you! Oh, and this is my sister, Diana," Hermione says hurriedly, nodding to me. "She's going into her first year."

"Ah, my sister's just starting too!" He tells me.

"Really? Is she about?" I almost forget my shyness. I'm eager to meet someone from my year; it might make walking into not only a new school but an entirely new way of life a bit easier. Well, a bit.

"I'm sorry to say she was too lazy to come,' he laughs. "I'm just here with my brother, he's-' He turns around and scans the crowd behind his back, to no avail. "Well, he  _was_  just behind me." He shrugs, swinging back round. "Probably got caught up staring at his reflection in a shop window or something. I'd better go and find him."

"Yes, I've got to meet my friends, too." Hermione says, still sounding a little flustered. "Well, it was very nice to meet you!"

"You too! And you, Diana - good luck at Hogwarts!"

"Thanks!" I squeak.

He gives us a little wave and retreats into the heaving mass of people.

"Now  _him_ I could understand the fuss about," I tease under my breath, as we start walking again. "Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand-"

"Oh, he's doing a book signing at Flourish and Blotts!" Hermione exclaims. "How could I forget?! Come on, let's hurry up and meet everyone - we might still catch him!" She doubles her pace, and I scurry to keep up. Half of me suspects this is punishment for my teasing and I smile ruefully.

"So," I pant. "Did they say where you could meet them?"

"It was supposed to be outside Gringotts,' she says, as we come to a stop in front of the enormous bank. 'But I don't - hang on - is that Harry? And that- that's  _Hagrid_  -"

Her expression breaks into pure excitement, and she runs towards her friends at a pace that outstrips me in seconds. I watch her run for a second, her bushy brown hair streaming behind her. I've never seen her this happy to see school friends. Clearly, the friendships she made at Hogwarts have been the most significant of her life so far.

I hope they will be for me as well.

I revel in the anticipation for a moment, taking in the sight of the wizarding world, then run through the dense crowd after my sister. 


	2. The Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks a lot for the kudos :) Hope you like this chapter - it introduces our most hateable character...

* * *

 

"Can you wait here for me, Diana? I just want to check again..." Hermione says, craning her neck in an attempt to look through the throng of people gathered on Platform 9 and 3/4. Busy is an understatement - the walls of the station are hardly visible.

"You looked a minute ago!" I tell her, thinking of her very recent attempt to weave through the dense crowd and find her friends, whose absence she's been fretting over for the past fifteen minutes.

"I know, but I think I just saw a flash of ginger - it might be Ron!" She says. "Don't move from this spot. I'll be back in just a minute..."

I fiddle with my ticket nervously as my sister makes her way through the crowds, willing my jitters not to slip into full-blown anxiety. I try to distract myself, take in the sight of the grand old steam train and the mass of people in cloaks and hats, the hoot of owls and clank of odd coins and chatter of a hundred voices.

"Excuse me?" Says a voice to my left, and I turn to see who it's coming from. To my relief, it's a boy who looks about my own age, although the higher pitch of voice was my first clue. He's taller than me - which isn't very hard - with a somewhat stocky build that promises muscle definition in the future. A thick mop of treacle-coloured curls hang slightly in front of eyes, a brilliant bright blue my own are instantly tricked into looking into. He has a strong jawline and the kind of smile which is a mixture between genuine self-confidence and half-concealed nervousness. "You're a first year too, right?" He asks.

I nod. "Yes, yes I am. Diana Granger," I add, sticking out a hand for him to shake; he takes it in his enthusiastically. His grip's slightly stronger than I predicted, but it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless. Internally, I'm more than a little relieved to have met another first year now - and one who isn't already wearing their school robes, like Hermione's insisted on doing in her typically organised way. My slightly fading floral shirt and dark skirt look normal next to his blue jeans and large, mauve hoodie. "Pleasure to meet you!" He says, nodding vigorously. "Atticus Stark." His eyes widen a second as he inspects my face. _Uh oh_. "Wait...did you say your name's Granger?"

"Yeah..." I say, slightly apprehensively.

"You wouldn't be sister to Hermione Granger, would you?" He asks excitedly.

"I would indeed!" I tell him. I have a sneaking suspicion I know why he's so eager, given everything Hermione told me about her best friend's fame.

"She's great friends with Harry Potter, isn't she?" He babbles in confirmation. "Helped him through the puzzles at the end of last year and got fifty points for Gryffindor as well! Awesome! I- oh, sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm gushing, aren't I?"

"Just a little." I try my best to deadpan successfully. It works; his strong jawline breaks into a smile and he laughs, prompting me to join in without fear. "I wouldn't recommend asking Hermione too many questions about it all, though," I add. "She's more interested in the fact we have that Gilderoy Lockheart guy for a teacher this year."

My brow can't help but furrow slightly. Truth be told, I was never quite as enamoured with the celebrities of the wizarding world as my sister's become. Give me a good Nik Kershaw or Madonna over them any day; I've been distinctly less interesting in my devout love of muggle clothing, media and music, a fact which hasn't changed since the revelation I too possess the right coding to be a witch. I've tried fooling myself that everything will change once I actually begin attending Hogwarts, but - besides my undeniable anxiety about attending a new school - I'm still just as fond of Star Wars as I was before the letter came!

"What's it like, then?" Atticus smiles at me with some nervousness. "Being new to the wizarding world?" Relief floods me instantly. In an odd way, I was hoping he wouldn't be a Muggle-born like me. It might be helpful hanging around someone who's used to the wizarding world, so I don't make too much of a prat of myself when I'm thrust into something so different.

"It's great," I say, honestly. "Nerve-racking, though. I guess it could be scarier - the real shock was finding out all this existed when Hermione got accepted. She's been filling me in on Hogwarts for the past year in her letters! D'you have siblings?"

"Yeah, but they're all younger, so I'm the first to go. Bit of pressure, to be honest!"

"Why's that?"

"I really want to get Gryffindor, like my parents were. House of the brave, and all that! In fact..." He tails off and starts digging in his pocket. I tilt my head, intrigued.

"Here!" He says, drawing out what looks like a silver stick, about the size of a pencil. On closer inspection, I make out the hilt and blade of a sword, starred with scarlet. "It's a miniature replica of the sword of Godric Gryffindor!" He beams.

"Nice!" I tell him, leaning closer to look at it. It's quite beautiful; rare, I'm sure. "Hermione told me about the history of her House so I- hey?" I cut off, noticing he's rummaging in his pocket again. "You got more Gryffindor memorabilia hiding in there?"

"Not much," He grins sheepishly. "Just a moving lion model, a box of badges with Gryffindor's seal and thirteen Godric Gryffindor Chocolate Frog Cards. I'm...quite a fan."

I laugh incredulously. "You got all that in your pocket?" It seems impossible.

"Ever heard of the Undetectable Extension Charm?" Atticus shrugs, still grinning. "It's kind of my dad's signature spell..."

I eye his large rucksack with some apprehension. "D'you have an actual lion hiding in there or something?"

He laughs. "Not quite..."

"Well, I reckon you'll get Gryffindor, anyway. You'd definitely fit in great!" I tell him.

"Let's hope so! What about you?" He asks. "Which House d'you want to get?"

"Oh, I don't really mind. Guess it'd be nice to be with my sister. And with you!" I smile, a little awkwardly.

Atticus looks as if I'm introducing an unheard concept to him. "You don't mind?" He asks, jaw almost on the floor, astonishment twisting his features. "But...your House is what people always use to make up their opinions on you!" He insists. "If you end up in one known for producing bad people then you're never going to be able to make it anywhere, or have any friends outside the people in your dorm! You really don't mind about where you're placed?" He sounds like he's seeking assurance more for his own sake than mine, but maybe things are different when you're not raised in the Muggle world?

"Not really." I shrug. "For me just getting into Hogwarts was the important part!" I laugh, hoping I'm not blushing too much, since I tend to mottle whenever I feel put under pressure. "Y'know, Muggle parents and all, means I didn't have the best of chances."

That seems to make him check himself. "Oh! Of course!" He replies, vigorously nodding his head. "Sorry about that. Mum and Dad belonged to Gryffindor - that's where they met! They've told me all sorts of stories about what a House it is to be in - Albus Dumbledore himself belonged to it! - and that it's the best place to find someone to be with and all that." It's his turn to flush a pale pink now. "Not like that's all I've been thinking about, but they're so happy together. I can only hope I can be that happy someday, y'know?

"I guess so," I nod, but I'm slightly bemused. While Hermione was eager to be placed in Gryffindor after researching the houses last year, I don't think she saw it as important as Atticus clearly does. She certainly wasn't talking about meeting a soulmate there. It hadn't really crossed my mind. Still, I suppose we weren't raised in this world; our parents have no real stake in where we happen to end up, no traditions to uphold. "Well, I might be joining you!" I say bracingly. "Who knows, bravery and chivalry and all that could run in my family!"

"Hope so! It'd be nice if you were there too." There's a moment of friendly but slightly awkward silence, so I'm all too happy to see my sister approaching.

"Hey!" I call out. "Any luck? Was it Ron?"

"No, it was Fred." She replies, looking distinctly worried. "Apparently, Harry and Ron still haven't turned up, even though they were just behind the rest of them."

She seems so preoccupied that she hasn't noticed Atticus, who's staring at her with what looks like awe.

"Maybe they just got distracted by something?" I suggest, hoping I can provide her some sort of comfort in her distress. She's clearly over-thinking - a trait Hermione's never been quite able to shake, and my job's always been calming her down in these moments of self-induced panic.

"Perhaps," she mutters, looking around once again for the signs of her missing friends.

"Look!" I put my hand on her shoulder and gently squeeze. "Why don't you go and sit with Fred and George for the journey in case you hear about them?" I offer her a bright smile in an attempt to further reassure her when she turns her eyes to me, slightly nervous.

"What about you, Di?"

"Oh, I'll be fine!" I promise, turning back to Atticus and offering him a smile which I'm hoping will distract him from staring, awestruck, at my sister. "I can sit with you, right?"

"Of course!" He nods, tearing his eyes away from Hermione. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to anyway."

"You see?" I turn to my sister. "This is Atticus, by the way, Hermione."

"Hello there," Her worried expression breaks into a quick smile. "It's nice to meet you; I'm-"

"Oh, I know who you are!" Atticus says excitedly. _Reign it in a bit,_ I urge silently. "You were instrumental in winning Gryffindor the House Cup last year! Oh, and rescuing the Philosopher's Stone, of course." He adds hastily.

"Atticus is hoping to end up in Gryffindor, Hermione." I explain.

"An excellent choice, I have to say," she nods, and he beams at the approval.

We're cut short by the Hogwarts Express, which belches steam impatiently. The crowds stir, and there's a flurry of hugs and goodbyes.

"Well, we'd better get going," Hermione says briskly. "If you need me, Diana, you can always come and find me - I'll try and get a compartment near you!"

"I will!" I promise.

She folds me into a brief hug. "I'll see you later, Diana." She turns to Atticus. "Nice meeting you!"

"You too! Hopefully, we'll be in the same House!" He calls as she starts to hurry away.

I turn to him as the crowds begin swarming onto the train. "Feel like battering people out the way so we can get a compartment?" I joke as we step on board, instantly surrounded by a sea of people, all pushing and prodding in an attempt to find somewhere to sit with their friends. Looking for a last glimpse of Hermione through the crowds is more than a little futile, so I focus on following Atticus as he starts pressing forward.

The corridors aren't much better further in, but I manage to keep up with Atticus. The likelihood of him ending up in Gryffindor's becoming set in stone, judging by his enviable bravery in charging through the crush of people. I have to dash behind him in to keep up, but after a couple of close calls with bags being flung about and people making dramatic gestures, there's an obscured shout and he comes to a sudden halt. Atticus gestures to a compartment to our left and slips inside with some difficulty; I follow behind closely.

I'm a little confused about why he's chosen this particular compartment until we get inside and I realise his reasoning. There's a boy - a little stockier than Atticus, more onto the side of plump - sitting on one of the seats, dressed entirely in shades of blue. He has a mop of slicked back hair, a light shade of brown, but his most eye-catching feature is his complexion, which is resolutely red. His posture and stance are relaxed, yet he's the colour of a fire engine! I scold myself for being so judgmental as I take a seat opposite him, Atticus plonking down by his side.

The red-faced boy claps Atticus on the shoulder as he sits down. "Alright? You survived that crush, then?" He asks, nodding to the swarm of people in the corridor.

"Just about," Atticus laughs. His friend nods brusquely and then looks at me, eyebrows raised.

"Oh," Atticus says, rolling his eyes. "This is Diana Granger. Diana," he turns to me. "This is Chance Binkins. We've been friends since birth, practically!"

"Hi," I offer a smile, which he only half returns. Then he very suddenly bolts upright.

"Granger?" He echoes. "Would you be the sister of-"

"Hermione Granger, yeah," I say, wondering how many times I'm going to have to answer that question. My sister never let on the extent of her status at school.

"She's done some rather impressive things for Gryffindor House!" He says, looking a lot more lively than he did when I first walked in. I get the distinct impression that he's only so animated because of my surname.

"Another Gryffindor fan, huh?" I ask, looking at Atticus pointedly.

Before either of them can answer, there's an explosion of female-sounding giggles from just outside our compartment. I can just make out a tall figure from the centre of the crowd.

"Ugh, Lance Marchelle LaBrie's out there with his fan club, the stuck-up git." Chance moans.

"Lance Marchelle LaBrie?" I repeat uncertainly, in a very shaky accent. The surname sounds familiar to me, but I can't place where I've heard it before.

"A Slytherin. He's awful. Don't know why he has all these girls hanging around him; he's probably just rich. It's not like they value bravery of valour or anything actually important."

I only just about manage to resist the urge to gawp like a goldfish and start stuttering about the volume of unapologetic judgment radiating off him, but I think better of it. Sure, Hermione warned me about a particularly awful boy named Draco Malfoy - like someone who sounded so horrid deserved to be named after beautiful creatures like dragons - but she'd later told me, without any coaxing, that Daphne Greengrass (one of his fellow Slytherins) had proved surprisingly good company. It's clear Chance isn't going to be interested in my arguments, though, if his sneer is anything to go by.

"Marchelle LaBrie?" Atticus looks a little starstruck again - it's an expression I have the feeling I'll become used to seeing on him. "Isn't he the brother of Gwaine Marchelle LaBrie? My older cousin - you remember Sybella, don't you Chance? - she's in the same year as him! Says everyone think's he's going to become Head Boy!"

Chance snorts, still unimpressed. "Please tell me Sybella doesn't belong to that family and their pathetic little fanclub," he spits out the words, somehow twisting his face a deeper shade of crimson, which I wasn't sure was possible. "Just because they can speak a couple sentences in another language, everyone worships the ground they walk on! Ugh!" He groans. "Just our luck! Their sister's going to be in our year! Think she's going to be as arrogant as Gwaine or pretentious as Lance?"

I cough. I'm getting more than a little uncomfortable around this boy and his open prejudice towards a group of people I'm certain he's never spoken to once in his life. "It sounds like you know a lot about their family," I venture, knowing I'm flashing red at a potential raging bull but deciding to do it anyway. "Spoken to them much?"

"I wouldn't be defending them if I were you, Diana," He says darkly. "They'd probably regard you and your sister as lesser witches just because you're Muggle-born."

That stops me in my tracks - but of course, my blood status will be common knowledge because of my sister's fame. I know Hermione _has_ had comments about her parentage, as well, from Draco Malfoy and his gang particularly.

"It's rubbish, of course!" Atticus cuts it, earnestly. "I mean, look at your sister - one of the cleverest ever, from everything I've heard! Slytherin house just tends to have that problem, y'know, the anti-Muggle-born stuff..."

Chance snorts derisively. "It's all their founder cared about, is it any surprise they're all a bunch of pureblood bigots?!"

Before I can even find my voice, there's a knock on the compartment door.

'Come in!' Atticus calls.

A figure steps in, and before she even opens her mouth, the looks on Atticus' and Chance's faces are indicating some powerful idolisation. The girl in the doorway is attractive in an unfairly flawless manner that instantly draws my mind to the classic imagery associated with Disney princesses. Her hair's a light shade of gold and frames her oval face perfectly, curling at the ends in a way that reminds me of Sleeping Beauty. She's average height and her figure is curvier than some of the other older girls I've spied, but what really draws your attention are her eyes. They're large, with fluttering lashes, and a striking blue similar to Atticus', lavender shining in them when they're looking towards you in the right angle.

"Hi, Attie," she says. "I was wondering if you had room for one more? I'm helping Greg find a place to sit, and the train's packed as always...'

It's only then that I notice a small, plump figure standing almost directly behind her, fidgeting nervously. His head is down, showing only a mop of light brown hair.

"Of course!" Atticus says, beckoning him in. He shuffles nervously into the compartment, still avoiding our eyes (in Chance's case, that's probably wise). I immediately sympathise with his anxiety and move over to make more room for him to sit down next to me.

"Great," says the girl, then her eyes snag on me. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Attie?"

Atticus grins sheepishly and shakes his head to rearrange his hair. "This is Diana Granger, Hermione's sister!" Then he turns to me, and gestures towards the older girl. "And this is my cousin Sybella, Diana," he says, and there's a hint of pride in his smile. "Sybella's also in Gryffindor!"

"Oh!" She walks over towards me and extends her hand, shaking mine enthusiastically when I present it. "Sybella Stark; it's fantastic to finally meet you! Hermione mentioned you a lot in the common room last year! You're good at swimming, right?"

I flush faintly. "She mentioned that?" Sybella nods, smiling. "Yeah, I guess so - I'm definitely not in the same league as Hermione academically...I guess I've got to have some talent somewhere!"

"You didn't mention you were a swimmer, Diana!" Atticus says.

"She probably couldn't get a word in edgeways," Sybella says drily. "Showing you his Gryffindor collection, was he?" She asks me.

"It's very impressive." I grin.

"Sybella got me the sword, Diana," Atticus tells me.

"I worked bloody hard for it too, two weeks' worth of shifts at Madame Puddifoot's - I hope you're looking after it, Attie!" She says, mock-sternly.

"I'm guarding it with my life." He says, and part of me thinks he isn't joking, given the way he's cradling it in his palms.

"Well, you could always use it to - like - poke some Slytherins' eyes out, hehe!" Chance cuts in suddenly, with a slightly forced laugh. "Really-really live up to its Gryffindor potential, eh?"

There's a moment of awkward silence, and then Atticus chuckles deliberately. Chance looks expectantly at Sybella, to no avail; she catches my eye and pulls a slightly pained expression.

"Aha, good one, mate," Atticus says, nudging his friend on the shoulder.

"Anyway, I'd better get back to my friends," Sybella says into the silence. "Good to meet you, Diana! Will you be OK now, Greg?" She asks the boy sitting next to me, who still hasn't spoken.

"I'll be fine. Thanks!" He says in a small, timid voice, only looking up very slightly.

"See you later, Attie - oh, and if you're not in Gryffindor, I want that sword back," she winks at her cousin and backs out of the compartment.

"She's been in a weird mood recently." Atticus speaks up after he seems certain his cousin's returned to her friends. Something tells me he's trying to ease Chance's wounded ego, by excusing his cousin's lack of enthusiasm at such an awkwardly timed and unfunny remark.

"Weird?" I ask. "What kind of weird?"

"Distracted, y'know?" Atticus says with a loose gesture. "She came over to stay with us for a bit in the summer with her older brother, my other cousin Mars - he was also in Gryffindor!" He adds pointedly, and I can't help but smile at his clear delight. "But she spent most of her time reading these letters to herself and she'd sometimes start giggling for no reason..." His brow furrows. "I mean, sure, Sybella's got her own life, but I've never seen her that way before! She seemed so off in her own world - didn't even roll her eyes when Mars started going on about his new placement in Switzerland like she used to!"

I raise my eyebrows at him in a way that I hope makes me appear intelligent and not exceedingly smug. "Ah, I think I might have the answers you seek there!" I tease with a wink, and Atticus cocks his head to the side in open curiosity. "She's probably got a boyfriend."

Atty's eyebrows shoot into his fringe, but I'm more drawn to Chance, who just jumped halfway through a swig of pumpkin juice, coughed noisily, and spattered orange liquid over himself, the table, and, unfortunately, Greg. The small boy squirms slightly; I hand him a pile of napkins, and he mutters a barely audible 'thanks' as he takes them.

"D'you think?" Atticus asks me intently, as he pats his coughing friend on the back. "What makes you say that?"

"Daydreaming, giggling, letters - they're all textbook signs," I counsel. "You know-"

"Let's talk about something else," Chance cuts in, emerging from his coughing fit even redder. 'I think- oh, sorry about that, mate,' he says in Greg's direction, just noticing his soggy state.

"Don't worry," Greg mumbles, without meeting his eyes.

"You're...Greg, was it?" he asks, fixing the boy next to me with his signature bold gaze.

"Yeah," says the tiny voice.

"So, what house d'you want, Greg?" Chance asks loudly, despite the fact that his subject clearly does not want to be interviewed.

"Um...I don't really mind," Greg mutters, still looking resolutely at the table.

"What? Speak up a bit," Chance says rudely, grating on me further. Has the guy never heard of shyness before?

"He doesn't mind," I snap at him. "Anyway, what do you lot do for fun in the wizarding world? D'you have card games or anything we could do to pass the time?" I know very well from Hermione the full assortment of magical entertainment, but I'd like to take Chance's intense spotlight off Greg.

"I have Exploding Snap," Atticus offers.

Under normal circumstances I'd be more than up for it, but considering how on edge Greg seems, that kind of game could trigger a heart attack. Probably not the best way to start off my first year - with someone by my side dying during the train journey, thanks to a card game. "Would you be up for it?" I ask him gently with a slight smile. Greg's every bit as small statured and pale in complexion as he was when he first appeared, although now he's a little soggier. Thanks to Chance.

"M'not that sure..." He mumbles after a brief silence and I smile at him sympathetically. "Today's um...been a bit stressful," he sighs after yet another pause. I'm pleased he's started speaking more openly, even if I want to urge our companions to stop staring at him so intensely, as if he's about to suddenly burst into flames with his own nervous tension acting as the combustion force.

I turn to Atticus. "Maybe something a bit quieter?" I suggest, flicking my eyes towards Greg as inconspicuously as I can manage. Chance opens his mouth - obviously to say something that couldn't possibly be _anything_ but thoughtful and empathic - but Atticus luckily manages to cut him off before he can put his foot in things further. I can tell I've impressed him with my analysis of his cousin's behavior and I'm glad - I might not know too much about magic, but know a little about people. "I have a couple options actually!" He smiles at Greg. "Would you like to pick something?"

 _"I_ know what we should do," Chance interrupts, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of _course_ he does. "Let's go outside and jinx the living daylights out of Lance Marchelle LaBrie and his stupid fan club." He glares towards the group that have now settled in the compartment opposite ours. They're not even being that loud anymore; he clearly has a personal vendetta.

"Let's trade Chocolate Frog Cards," Atticus suggests hurriedly, and his friend drags his eyes away from the door and nods. They both start shuffling through pretty impressive collections.

I notice that Greg still hasn't reacted, despite the cards I can see in his pocket. Maybe Chance's more than a little abrasive personality is putting him off? It's not like that wouldn't be understandable.

"I have something really cool we could look at, if you feel like it?" I ask him quietly, making sure that Chance is distracted in his haggling. Greg looks up and gives a little nod and a half-smile in my direction. Encouraged, I dig around in my bag and triumphantly emerge with the book Hermione got me for my birthday.

"Dragons!" I tell him, still keeping my voice low so as not to engage the others. "My sister got it for me. Want to see?"

For the first time, his eyes spark with interest. "Yeah...if that's OK?"

I spread the book over our section of the table and smooth the glossy pages down. A huge black beast with a spiny tail spits a stream of yellow fire. "The Hungarian Horntail," I say softly. "One of the fiercest; they can shoot fire as far as fifty feet!"

Greg touches the page lightly, entranced. It looks like I might have found someone as interested as me.

"A Common Welsh Green - they're native...a Ukrainian Ironbelly - the biggest in existence..." I say, skimming the pages, totally engrossed myself. "Ah, the Slovakian Sunbeam...this might be my favourite." I stop at a dragon with golden scales and slender pink-tinged wings. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Wow," Greg whispers.

"They're beautiful, right?"

He nods fervently. "I'd love to see one. One day, I mean."

We're pulled out of our trance by the sound of Chance loudly tearing up a Chocolate Frog Card. "No Salazar Slytherin for me," He announces. "No chance!"

If I'd only just met him I would've been shocked at how easily he's disregarding what some others could consider a highly valuable addition to a card collection, but judging by the objective disdain Chance seems to have towards everything and anyone Slytherin related, I don't even have the energy to sigh. Running in and hexing a bunch of older students was an idea so ridiculous, part of me hopes he was just going for the bravado way of impressing people. We'd have all been slaughtered in a matter of seconds. Maybe even expelled for pulling such a stunt.

Hermione would never forgive me for an incident like that before I even _got_ to school.

Turning back to Greg, who looks similarly unimpressed, I offer him a shrug before flipping onto the next page and grinning in delight at the vivid image in front of us. "The Brazilian Featherback..." I murmur, as we both stare at the rustling, brightly coloured scales amongst a sea of pearly white. "They're one of the most beautiful breeds - alongside the Sunbeam, of course!" I add quickly. "To attract mates they have these intricate display rituals, I think Hermione said there's a book on them somewhere in the library, maybe you can borrow it after I do-"

"Hey?" I resist the urge to sigh at the sound of Chance's voice. "What are the two of you muttering about?"

Narrowed, watery blue eyes are glowering at us both suspiciously and I instantly tighten my hold on the book. A moment later I notice Greg's done the same instinctively, and I silently thank him for wanting to make sure Chance doesn't get his claws into my prized birthday gift. "Dragons." I reply, in the matter-of-fact tone Hermione's often applied, usually effectively. "Hermione gave me a book on them for my birthday and we were just admiring them, since I don't have many Chocolate Frog Cards. That is _allowed_ in this compartment, isn't it?" I don't even try to hide my disdain.

"What d'you mean, is that 'allowed?'" His voice has taken on a dangerous tone.

"Well, I don't really want it getting torn up in another temper tantrum, y'know?" I hold his gaze resolutely.

"Um, I'm going to go and get changed into my robes." Greg mutters, looking between me and Chance and clearly sensing oncoming conflict. He rummages in his trunk and shuffles out the compartment in his typical nervous manner, tripping over the table leg as he exits.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Chance demands. " _Temper tantrum_?"

'Chance,' Atticus says, in a placating tone. 'I'm sure sh-'

'Oh, whatever. I'm going to get changed as well.' Throwing another glare in my direction, he too stomps out of the compartment and slams the door. I exhale loudly and crack my knuckles in frustration.

"Sorry about him," Atticus says. "He can be kind of...difficult, sometimes?"

"You don't say!"

"He's a nice guy deep down, though. Honest. A true Gryffindor!" Atticus' voice is very earnest, his eyes round, trusting.

I might not like his friend - at all - but Atticus seems nice, even with his Gryffindor obsession. Friendly, likable, fun to be around. The sort of person I'd like as a friend. With effort, I relax, smile. "It's fine, no worries. Anyway... want to show me your Chocolate Frog collection? I hear you have thirteen Godric Gryffindors..."


	3. Spencer Richardson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter, in which we meet another twat of the much more dangerous variety... thanks for reading:)

It's dark by the time the train finally grinds to a stop. I stumble onto a dimly-lit platform with the rest of the students, rubbing my hands together to keep them warm in the chilly autumn air. Luckily, the robes and cloak I changed into on the train are pretty toasty. Once everyone's off and the Hogwarts Express closes its doors, I peer around for any sign of Hermione, but within seconds I know it's useless looking now, given the lack of light - and the swarm of people, most of whom are a lot taller than me.

I'm about to ask what we should do now when I notice a lamp bobbing through the air, spilling a feeble pool of light, accompanied by a voice as loud as a foghorn. "Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" Even in the meagre lamplight, I can see the speaker is extraordinarily large, his face partially obscured by a mass of unruly black hair.

"That's got to be Hagrid." I mutter, immediately placing him from Hermione's descriptions. He of the baby dragon.

"Firs' years follow me - and mind yer step, it's steep!" The gamekeeper calls, setting off down a narrow, winding path. The huddle of first-year students snake in his footsteps, trying to keep our balance on the dew-slick grass. A couple of times I nearly lose my footing, but ultimately manage to stay upright. Falling on my face - and probably causing a domino effect - is not the entrance I'd like to make.

"After this bend, yeh'll see Hogwarts!" Hagrid calls over his shoulder. I look up sharply as we turn the corner.

Spread in front of us is a vast black lake, its surface ominously still. From its shores the mountains rise; a huge castle stands atop their peaks, elegantly silhouetted against a star-spattered canvas. Its turrets and towers scrape the sky, but the lights that wink in its hundreds of windows are welcoming, warm. It's a struggle to drag my eyes away.

"Four to a boat!" Hagrid shouts, pointing to a group of little boats by the edge of the lake. Atticus, Chance, and I scramble into the nearest one; Greg follows nervously, eyeing the black water with some trepidation. The fleet of boats moves off in unison, gliding over the glass-smooth lake.

"Heads down, everyone!" yells Hagrid, as we approach the towering cliff on which the castle stands. I duck my head hastily - Greg practically flattens himself against the boat, earning a snort from Chance. We're carried through a wall of ivy and into a long, dark tunnel underneath the castle itself. The boats finally come to a stop in a rocky little harbour inside the cliff. We emerge, on foot, from the underground passageway and onto smooth, dew-damp grass. I look up - the castle towers ahead of me, imposing and enticing, all at once.

Following in Hagrid's (enormous) footsteps, we slowly climb a long, twisting flight of stone steps and come to a stop before a huge oak door. The gamekeeper knocks three times.

It's promptly opened by an older witch with square-rimmed spectacles and steely eyes. I immediately pinpoint her as Professor McGonagall, Hermione's Head of House.

"Firs' years for the Sorting, Professor."

"Thank you, Hagrid." She casts a slightly appraising eye over us all. "Come inside, first-years."

We're ushered into a vast chamber. There's a wall of sound to my right, hundreds of voices muffled by the stone dividing us. My stomach flips at the thought of all those people; I'm calmed only by the thought that Hermione will be among the crowds.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall says matter-of-factly. "In a few minutes, you will enter the Great Hall-" she gestures to the right, "-to be Sorted into your Houses - one of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. This is a matter of great importance; your House is something of a family to you while you're at Hogwarts. Please take a minute or two to prepare."

With that, she nods curtly and sweeps through a pair of heavy double doors, which - I assume - lead to the Great Hall. I catch a very brief glimpse of a series of long tables and a mass of students before the doors swing shut.

The second Professor McGonagall leaves, the crowd of first-years erupts into nervous chatter.

"This must be the Entrance Hall, then," Atticus says, in tones of awe. "It's huge! And up _there_ must be where the classrooms and dorms are…" He motions to a grand, sweeping marble staircase. "And I think my parents might have mentioned these portraits to me, too…"

He's talking at the speed of light, clearly his way of expressing his excitement. I'm gormless, staring at the vastness and grandeur of the room around me, with its high ceilings and ancient stone walls that echo with every whisper. Greg seems overwhelmed, his eyes the size of golf balls, and even Chance looks impressed.

"And _those_ are used for the House points, Gryffindor uses rubies, like the ones on - _oh no."_ Atticus stops chattering mid-stream, staring at someone in the knot of people next to the House Points hourglasses - just a few feet away from us - with a horrified expression.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask, following his gaze. I can't see anything that looks too terrible.

"He _can't_ be in our year - well, obviously he is - but _why?'_ He looks aghast.

"What?!"

"Spencer Richardson." Chance says, as if announcing something very grim.

"Who's that?" I study the group, still intensely confused.

" _Him."_ Atticus points to a dark-haired figure at the centre of the pack with his back to us. "He's _awful_ \- comes from an old Slytherin family - absolutely obsessed with blood status, never shuts up about being pureblood; probably keeps a picture of You-Know-Who under his pillow-"

It's at this point that I realise it might have been wise to tell Atticus to keep his voice down. Too late.

The boy swings around and faces us. He's tall for his age - that's the first thing that strikes me about him - with a wiry mass of black hair and piercing amber eyes. He's smiling.

"Is there a problem?" He asks, almost pleasantly. His voice is every bit as directed and upper crust as I'd expected of someone like him, but there's an undeniable edge to his tone.

"Nope." Atticus says resolutely, staring him down. "No problem at all."

"Really? I could have sworn I'd heard _someone_ insulting me. Oh well. I suppose I can settle this later." His long fingers move idly inside his robes, to where I'm sure his wand is stashed. He looks at Atticus; the shark-like smile widens. "And you can enjoy pointing out every attraction in the hospital wing."

Greg starts to edge slowly behind my back. People in our immediate vicinity have started to fall silent and watch the unfolding scene.

"You shouldn't threaten us, Richardson," Chance growls, clearly trying his utmost to sound menacing. He gestures to me. _Oh no._ " _She's_ Hermione Granger's sister." His tone is smug, like he's just announced a checkmate, and my toes curl with embarrassment. My sister's academic success in no way means that I'm some sort of force to be reckoned with. The exact opposite, in fact.

Richardson seems to think the same. At Chance's words, he breaks his stare-down with Atticus and moves onto me. His amber eyes analyse me closely, and clearly come up unimpressed, amused. He folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head slightly, as if trying to figure out what the best insult is. "Ah," he says, in the same infuriatingly controlled tone. "Sister of Gryffindor's beloved Muggle-born?"

"Yeah?" I say warily. The gang of kids he'd been at the centre of have now gathered behind him, reminiscent of a wolf pack, and almost all of them are looking me up and down with similarly unimpressed expressions, with the odd hyena smirk thrown in. Next to me, Atticus tenses.

"How nice." Richardson drawls, as if amused. "It seems our year, too, has been graced by the presence of a Granger Muggle."

I feel like I've been punched, but try my hardest not to let my shock show on my face; instead, I snatch my wand out of my robes, and a few of his followers satisfyingly recoil, though he doesn't move an inch. "See this?" I snap. "Yeah? Means I'm not a Muggle."

Richardson laughs condescendingly at my obvious anger. "Congratulations on picking up a stick, dear."

"Can't tell a wand from a stick? Sure _you're_ not the Muggle?" Atticus steps forward angrily, and the miniature sword falls out his pocket and clatters onto the stone floor loudly. For a second it lies there, winking, then Richardson glances at it and smirks.

"Gryffindor's sword," He murmurs, looking up and eyeing my companions with very clear derision. "Of _course_ you're Muggle-loving fools."

"Shut the hell up, Richardson." Chance snarls, and I feel a little twist of guilt for complaining about him so much.

"Intimidating, Binkins." Richardson laughs lightly, leaning down to pick up the sword. Atticus goes to move, but I'm quicker.

"Hand it over," I tell him, raising my wand and stepping forward.

He just laughs. "What are you going to do with that? It takes a witch to use a wand."

I want to scream, but instead I point my wand in the air. Hermione's told me the incantation for this spell and dozens of others more times than I can count...I hope that alone will be enough. I focus all my energy on my wand, blot out Richardson's smirk and the mass of his pack and the faint sound of Greg whimpering from behind my back. ' _Alballious_.' I hiss. For a second there is nothing, then a series of bright white sparks shoot out of the tip of my wand, and Richardson steps backwards, his gang scattering.

Sure, it's supposed to produce a mass of dazzling stars high at least twenty feet in the air, but it's something. And for the first time since he initially spoke, Spencer Richardson is not smiling.

"Thank you very much," I say, snatching the sword from his fingertips and storming through the crowd, blood pounding in my ears.

"Enjoy your evening," Richardson calls after me, all composure regained. His amber eyes are on me like hooks. " _Mudblood._ "


	4. The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Chance gets what he wants, but not what he deserves...

_Mudblood._ The word is still ringing in my ears as I push away from Richardson, still clutching my wand so tightly my knuckles are starting to turn white.

There isn't far to go with the whole of my year crammed into the Entrance Hall, but I make my way to the wall furthest from Richardson's gang and turn away from the crowd. The fingers clamped around my wand start to shake from adrenaline and anger, so I shove my hands inside my robes and breathe deeply.

Even if I'm pretty naive to the customs of the wizarding world, I know what Richardson just called me - or what it would be to the effect of in the Muggle world. I know what he meant to tell me. Part of me's regretting the fact I didn't just turn around and punch him out for saying it, but I suppose the whole magic part is bad enough without me making him bleed. Plus, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit afraid of his retaliation.

"Diana!" Atticus. He's come after me, Chance trailing in his wake. "You - you alright?"

_Calm._ I exhale, plant a smile on my face and turn round. "Yep, fine."

I notice he's staring at me with something worryingly like awe. "Crikey, Diana..." He mutters. "You just- but he's..."

"Spencer Richardson - pureblood extraordinaire?" I offer, my tone disdainful. "I guess you can add total bigot to that, but yes. I just stood up to him!" I manage indignation, hands on my hips. My smile becomes a little less forced. Atticus' response is enough to reduce the sting of Richardson's insult. He's looking at me like I just took on fifteen Death Eaters at once without a wand - or something similar. Like I tamed a Hungarian Horntail.

"Oh, and this is yours." I say, handing him the sword. That seems to shake him out of his dumbfounded state.

"Thanks!" He says, pocketing the sword and placing a hand on my shoulder. He frowns slightly, as if struggling to find the words to say something. "I...I must've seemed like a bit of a poor Gryffindor there - letting you go in defending me like that!"

"Nah, you defended me first," I say truthfully.

"I guess so," he says uncertainly. "Should've done more, though."

"Are you alright, Diana?" Greg asks, scuttling over from where he'd previously been hiding behind a knot of girls near the door.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I smile bracingly.

"But the stuff he was saying-"

"Don't worry - Hermione warned me that I might get some flack for it. And that I'd probably be singled out even more for being her sister. Mr Richardson just... targeted me a little earlier than I'd expected."

"Mr Richardson is a dumb git. Him and all his Slytherin fan club." Chance says darkly.

"You got that right, mate." Atticus nods, staring across the crowd at Richardson and his pack with something close to hatred. He blinks twice, as if breaking a trance, and turns to me, his face brightening suddenly. "Well, you'll definitely get Gryffindor now!"

Before I can reply, the heavy double doors are thrown open. "First year students!" Professor McGonagall calls. The crowd falls silent immediately, a fresh air of tension settling over us. "You may now enter the Great Hall and be sorted into your Hogwarts houses."

The mass of pupils begins to slowly trickle through the doors. I brace myself and walk forward. "Let's go and find out."

* * *

Hermione told me about her Sorting Ceremony in her typical detail, but, I realise as I stand and stare at the old battered hat that will decide my place, it hasn't done much to dampen my nerves.

"When I call your name, you will come up and put on the hat to be sorted," Professor McGonagall announces, shaking out a long scroll.

"Angeles, Paul!" A boy that I recognise with a twinge as one of Richardson's gang sits down on the stool and dons the Sorting Hat, his fidgeting feet giving away his nerves. After a few moments, the Hat cries out " _Slytherin_!" The Slytherin table cheers as he joins them.

"Antebellum, Blossom!"

A small, pale girl with strawberry blonde hair stumbles up and puts on the hat. It barely touches her head before shouting " _Hufflepuff!_ " She sighs with visible relief, and practically skips to the Hufflepuff table, which welcomes her warmly.

Professor McGonagall consults her list. "Binkins, Chance!" _This'll be interesting._ The red-faced boy strides up to the stool, his face set, and jams the hat onto his head. After about five seconds' worth of silence, the hat decides. " _Gryffindor_!" Relief floods his face, and for the first time since I met him, Chance actually smiles as he takes his seat amongst the cheering Gryffindors.

"Xander, Callisto" becomes the first new Ravenclaw. We're creeping closer to my surname now, and my nerves start to pick up as I watch him take his seat amongst the crowd of students in blue-striped ties. "Creevey, Colin" goes to Gryffindor, running to the table with especial enthusiasm. Before he sits down, he takes a camera from around his neck and photographs his applauding housemates.

"Dickins, Rooshlin!" Calls Professor McGonagall, and with another pang of discomfort I vaguely recognise another of Spencer Richardson's fanclub - the shortish one with a large nose and overgrown, messy brown hair. He doesn't look quite so smug now - although once the hat declares him a Slytherin, his face takes on its familiar self-satisfaction.

The next student - "Espona, Lizanne" - also goes to Slytherin, clearly happy with her lot as she shakes back a sheet of long, pale blonde hair. There's only one person ahead of me in the line now. As "Finch-Fletchley, Richard" is declared a Hufflepuff, my stomach starts to somersault. I'm next. I'm next.

"Granger, Diana!"

_Me._ On shaking legs, I walk up to the stool and sit down. My heart races as I slip the Sorting Hat onto my head. For a moment, there's silence - then a low voice in my ear.

" _Hmm...interesting...there's certainly some daring here, some nerve...but also loyalty…kindness. Not the finest of brains...but_ something. _..hm...better be..._ HUFFLEPUFF!"

_Hufflepuff._ It takes a second for my mind to register it, in which the room seems strangely silent, slow. Then all of a sudden my hearing returns and the Hufflepuff table erupts into cheers and applause. I flush with happiness at their reaction and disentangle the Sorting Hat from my frizz, hopping off the stool.

I scan the Gryffindor table and quickly spot Hermione - she looks shocked, perhaps a little disappointed, but the moment she catches my eye she smiles widely and throws me a wave. I return it, a little weakly given the nerves still jumping in my belly, and make my way over to the Hufflepuff table.

Immediately, people shuffle up to make room for me on the long, wooden bench; there are quite a few whispered welcomes and hands clapped on my shoulder as I sit down. Everyone seems as friendly as I'd guess of Helga's House.

I'm so preoccupied with my own surprise and relief that I only just come around to watch "McCarthy, Farlan," and "Newhelm, Carys," be consecutively sorted into Ravenclaw. My nerves pick up yet again when I spot who's next in line.

"Onyssen, Gregory!" Calls Professor McGonagall. I'm honestly worried he might pass out; his face is chalk-white. He's visibly trembling as he sits on the stool and settles the Sorting Hat onto his head, eyes closed tightly. I cross my fingers under the table. For a moment there's silence.

" _Hufflepuff!_ " The Hat declares, and Greg's face floods with very clear relief. He seems extremely eager to have it off his head, and practically sprints to our table when he spots me. I quickly budge up to make room for him and he settles close to me. "Well done!" I whisper. He smiles gratefully, though he still looks slightly terrified. I'm only distracted by the sound of everyone around me suddenly clapping (Greg almost jumps out of his skin) and look up to see a girl with light brown skin and glossy black hair has also been sorted into Hufflepuff. I applaud her arrival with the rest of my House ( _my_ House!), then my eyes automatically flicker onto the person next in line. I wish they hadn't.

"Richardson, Spencer!" I get a strange ache in the pit of my stomach watching Richardson climb onto the stool and slip on the Sorting Hat. Unlike everyone who's gone so far, he doesn't look nervous in the slightest - in fact, he seems almost bored. Within seconds, the hat calls out " _Slytherin_!" Clearly, he'd never expected otherwise; the Slytherin table seems to cheer particularly loudly for his arrival, especially the first-years that have already been sorted there.

"Stark, Atticus!" Professor McGonagall calls. I sit up intently. Atticus looks uncharacteristically nervous as he places the Hat onto his head with great precision, almost as if he's rehearsed this moment. Given how important I know this to him, I wouldn't be surprised if he had. I hold my breath, anxious on his behalf.

He needn't have worried - within a moment of touching his curls the hat declares " _Gryffindor!_ "

His face breaks into an expression of pure delight. " _Yes_!" He shouts in jubilation, pumping a fist, then suddenly remembers himself and flushes good-naturedly. There's a series of laughs (and a few less-than-friendly snickers from the Slytherin side of the room) but the Gryffindor table practically roars with approval when he sits down. I can't help but smile at his obvious ecstasy.

"Stormhaven, Hailey" goes to Ravenclaw, but I almost miss her verdict as I'm more preoccupied with the way she's managed to fashion her hair into a tight beehive - a real 1960s throwback. It almost looks too mature a hairstyle for a first year and I'm left staring slightly in her wake as she sweeps over to the Ravenclaw table, not one hair on her head quivering. "Vaughn, Christopher" also goes to Ravenclaw. The group has thinned out significantly now.

"Weasley, Ginevra!" Calls Professor McGonagall. A small girl - marked out as Ron's sister as much by her flaming red hair as her surname - nervously approaches the hat. She's declared Gryffindor, and I spot Hermione congratulating her as she sits down. That leaves me with a slightly strange feeling, a distant relative of envy, but I push it aside and return to the Sorting. There's only one person left now; after "St. Wyvern, Zanielle" has also joined the Gryffindor table, Professor McGonagall takes the Sorting Hat and carries it away, wearing a satisfied expression.

The last of the cheers die down as the Headmaster gets to his feet. It's my first time seeing Albus Dumbledore in the flesh - my sister did not exaggerate either the scope of his presence or the length of his beard. In one simple gesture an air of calmness seems to spread over the room. "A very warm welcome to all our new students," he smiles, rather mischievously. "Tuck in, everyone!"

I grin. I was expecting a speech, but I'm certainly not complaining.

The golden plates fill with food. Now the nerves are ebbing away, my hunger's returned with vengeance, and I pull the dish of roast potatoes towards my plate enthusiastically. Everything looks amazing. I go to pick up the nearest jug of pumpkin juice but stop abruptly when I realise the girl sitting to my left has also gone for it.

"Oh, sorry!" I tell her.

"Don't worry!" She smiles warmly, then pushes it towards me. "You have it."

"Thanks!" I say, pouring myself a goblet and passing her the jug. "I'm Diana, by the way."

"Nice to meet you! I'm Blossom." She says, taking the juice.

The name suits her; she's small, delicate, with cornflower-coloured eyes and soft ringlets, tinged lightly with copper. It also rings a bell in my mind.

"Hey, weren't you one of the first to be sorted?" I ask. "The hat decided so quickly!"

"Yeah - my whole family's been in Hufflepuff. I was really hoping I'd be sorted here too!'

This seems to catch the attention of the boy sitting opposite her. "So was I!" He looks to Blossom and me in turn. "Hello there - Richard Finch-Fletchley. It's awfully good to meet you." He reaches out to shake our hands over the table, with a formality that matches his upper-crust accent.

Blossom smiles, a little shyly. "You too! So, do you have a family history of Hufflepuff too?"

Richard chuckles. "Not quite - I'm Muggle-born, you see. My brother's in Hufflepuff, though - he's down there." He points a little way down the table, where a boy with similar colouring sits, immersed in animated conversation with a plump boy sitting next to him. "Rather nice to be together, I must say!"

His eyes flicker onto Greg, who's keeping up his characteristic silence. "Oh, hello! Are you pleased to be in Hufflepuff?"

Greg barely nods, clearly overwhelmed in the face of such bombastic friendliness.

"I certainly am!" I cut in, trying to take the spotlight off him. Luckily, Richard's proves far less intense than Chance's was earlier on.

"Were you hoping to be sorted here too, Diana?" He asks me.

"Oh, I didn't really mind beforehand - my sister's in Gryffindor, though." I nod to where Hermione's sitting. Now that I'm not preoccupied by the Sorting, I notice that Harry and Ron still haven't turned up, and my sister wears a familiar worried expression, frequently glancing to the door.

Just along from her, I spot Atticus - even from here I can spot his beaming smile and the breakneck speed he's chattering at. Even Chance still looks satisfied at where he's sitting - which, if my train journey is anything to go by, is a definite rarity. Atticus catches my eye and waves enthusiastically from across the room; I return it fondly.

Against my better judgement, my eyes drift to the Slytherin table; almost everyone is engrossed in both conversation and food, but one person isn't talking or eating. Instead, Spencer Richardson sits back and surveys the room with an expression of intense self-satisfaction, like a king looking over his court. Too late, he notices me looking and trains his eyes on mine, his face twisting into a smirk. I hold his gaze for a minute, then look away. I know his smirk will have widened. He thinks he's won.

I shake myself - I'm not going to let Richardson ruin my first night at Hogwarts. I'm going to forget all about him and what he said. I blot out the knowledge that his eyes are still on me, and immerse myself in the feast.

* * *

An hour later, we've finished our meal and been shown through our common room - round, homely and reminiscent of a badger's den. Hermione told me about a portrait hole and a series of ever-changing passwords, but all we have to do is tap the barrels hiding the passage to the common room to the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff.' I'm privately pleased not to have to bother remembering (and inevitably forgetting) a list of passwords, even if I am a little sad to miss out on her promised tour of Gryffindor Tower. Still, Hufflepuff's common room already feels likes home.

No one lingers long in the common room, tired after the long journey and excitement of the Sorting, instead making our way through round doors to the dormitories.

Our dorm is snug, comforting and cosy, the very embodiment of what I was privately hoping it would be. We deposit our bags quickly, and without much discussion as well - a bed's a bed? They're all alike - although I internally admit I'm pretty pleased about getting one near the door. If ever I can't sleep, I can just go into the common room and read one of my favourite books (a particular birthday gift springs to mind) to help lull me back to sleep.

Now the chaos of movement has ended I can finally flop down onto my bed and get a proper look at the girls I'll be sharing a room with for the next seven years. Blossom's still every bit as pale and apricot-haired as she'd been when I met her in the Great Hall, unpacking her belongings with calm enthusiasm. I notice our companions have a similar gentle approach, something that reassures me a little. Being in a dorm with people furiously flinging clothes and books all over the place would've put me on edge.

One of the girls, who's got the bed closest towards the far wall, has a long curtain of dark brown, tightly curled hair, falling down her back in enviable ringlets. A pair of square-rimmed glasses are perched on the bridge of her nose, and when she glances in my direction and smiles - an infectious one I can't help but return - her eyes flash a light blue. The girl stood closest to her is Indian, with jet black hair cropped at shoulder length, straight as a board. She has a maroon bindi painted on her forehead, matching black braids pinning her hair away from her face. The final girl - who has a bed opposite mine - is slender and peachy skinned, with long, corn-coloured hair and deep green eyes. The one consistency my roommates have is a distinct friendliness about their smiles.

"So..." Blossom speaks up with a small, gentle smile as she finishes unpacking and sits down on her bed. "I guess we'd better start introductions? I'm Blossom Antebellum," she announces, sounding enviably carefree with her quiet form of confidence.

"Addirtri Sharma," the Indian girl says. Her voice has a tight Southern accent that promises a good education, but she lacks any of the snobbishness traditionally associated - something that relieves me slightly.

"Ruby Mallenry," the blonde announces, a thick Scottishness clinging to her strong voice. "And no," she adds with a slight eyebrow raise directed at all of us. "I'm afraid I didn't pack me kilt, so you're all genne havta stop gettin' so excited about that!" There's a series of giggles before the curly haired girl speaks up.

"Juliette van Garret." She announces, in a distinctly soft and melodic voice - the sort of birdsong-conjuring dulcet that put even Blossom's softly spoken tone to shame. That just leaves me.

"Diana Granger." I say with a smile. "And yes - my sister is the brilliant Hermione Granger! Sadly, I don't think I have any copies of her autograph!"

"You're Hermione's sister?" Ruby echoes. "Quality!"

"Hermione?" Addirtri repeats, crumpling her brow in confusion.

"She's good friends with Harry Potter. You know Harry Potter, right?" Blossom asks, and Addirtri nods fervently.

"I might've only found out about the wizarding world three weeks ago, but I've heard of the Boy Who Lived! In fact," she giggles. "I've, er, read quite a lot about him…" A faint blush creeps into her caramel-coloured cheeks.

"You'll be writing poetry soon," Blossom teases, and Addirtri throws her pillow in retaliation.

"Have you met Harry Potter, then, Diana?" Juliette asks me.

"Yeah - just the other day, in Diagon Alley."

"What was he like?"

"Um…" I rack my brains for a suitable adjective. "Er...nice?"

"I see why you're not in Ravenclaw," Ruby winks at me, and I laugh.

"Yeah, I'm not quite as articulate as my sister." I grin. "He seemed pretty normal, really."

"Well, you might be crushing on Harry Potter, Addirtri," Blossom says. "But it looks like Juliette's more fond of a certain Gilderoy Lockhart!" She nods towards Juliette's open trunk, which is overflowing with Lockhart's books.

"I simply admire his magical feats!" Juliette protests, blushing. "...And his eyes are rather nice, too."

"You're in luck! We've got him tomorrow!" I skim my timetable and find Defence tomorrow afternoon.

Ruby rolls her eyes then and shakes her head. "Gilderoy Lockheart..." She muses. "Y'know, my big sister's an absolute nutter for him, blathers on and on like they're engaged to be married or somethin'! She's a Ravenclaw, too," she adds with a bark of laughter. "So you think she'd be above that kind of pining, but apparently it happens to the smartest! Power of love n' all that!"

"Speaking of love," Blossom pipes up with a tone that's slightly less worn than Ruby's. "Did any of you manage to get a look at the infamous Lance Marchelle LaBrie?" She and Juliette descends into fits of giggles, whilst Ruby smirks and Addirtri raises her eyebrows slightly. I purse my lips. It probably isn't fair for me to go complaining about Chance and his vendetta to my new roommates; for all I know - well, _hope_ \- he could be a decent guy underneath all that bravado. Telling a bunch of girls who haven't even met him that I didn't exactly warm to him probably isn't going to do any good for either of our reputations.

"Isn't his sister in our year?" Juliette asks in her singsong voice, her bluebell eyes flicking between us.

Ruby groans. "Oh, _Gods_! Did you _hear_ who she ended up getting stuck with on the train ride here?" She sighs dramatically, giving us glances that border on horror. "Spencer Richardson."

Juliette and Blossom both look nothing short of appalled at the mention of his name. Honestly, I'm not overjoyed to hear it again; in the madness of the Sorting, finding dorms and introductions I had almost forgotten my encounter in the Entrance Hall. Almost.

"Not... _that_ Spencer Richardson?" Blossom finally asks, as if she's hoping Ruby's got her facts wrong.

"I'm a little afraid to ask," Addirtri ventures. "But who is this Spencer Richardson?"

"He's a Slytherin in our year - he's from a very prestigious pure-blood family. Pretty much everyone raised in the wizarding world have heard of them." Juliette hesitates, looking uncomfortable. "And - he's got some very…. unfair... views - on Muggle-borns."

"He's a right div." Ruby says bluntly.

"I had the total pleasure of meeting him in the Entrance Hall," I say grimly, recalling the events from earlier.

"Did he say something to you?" Juliette asks, looking scandalised.

"He had quite a lot to say, actually." I'm about to divulge more, but Addirtri's starting to look faintly worried. I've had a year to get used to what some might think of my blood status; it could be a shock to the system to hear about the prominence of people like Richardson for the first time. "But it doesn't matter, it didn't really bother me." I shrug hastily. Maybe we should try and steer the conversation onto safer ground.

"Aye!" Ruby nods. "Why bother messin' up our first night dwindling on the likes of Spencer Richardson? The nicest thing you can say about him is that he's not grown into _total_ little cockroach. _Yet_." She raises her eyebrows before digging into the large bag closest to her and begins unravelling a series of what I realise are posters from inside her bag.

"Are those Muggle posters?" Blossom looks enthralled as Ruby unscrolls one and flashes us all the image of the 1988 comedy film - which I'd taken a sneak look at, despite probably being too young - _Heathers_.

"Yep!" Ruby confirms with a proud nod, still flashing us all a grin. "Might've been born to a pureblood and a Muggle-born, but me mam wanted me to be raised closer to her world, y'know? Give me a chance at understanding everything instead of just letting me mutate into some fanatical bigot! Unlike _some_ people." She adds darkly, but lets her words to trail off before we end up on the topic of Spencer Richardson and his venom again.

Blossom looks between Ruby, Additri and I, excitement dancing in the bright blue of her wide eyes. "You guys must have some _seriously_ cool stories for us about being raised in the Muggle world! What's it like? What sorts of things do you do for fun with no magic?"

"Ever heard of TV?" I ask.

"That's the talking box, right?" Blossom tilts her head.

"I guess you could say that!" I shrug. "That's what we tend to waste our lives on. Rather than Quidditch."

"Yeah, our sports don't usually include flying.' Additri says. 'Usually just kicking a ball about - or maybe hitting it, if you're feeling adventurous. Oh, and we have books - but they don't have moving pictures."

"Never put my sister off," I mutter, thinking of her overflowing shelves at home.

"Not a big reader, Diana?" Juliette asks.

"Well, I like the odd novel...but I'm not going to be sleeping with my textbooks under my pillow," I laugh. "I'm more into swimming, really."

"Aha! We have _that_ in the wizarding world!" Blossom says triumphantly.

"Nice! Anyone feel like having a dip in the lake with me?" I offer, to a series of scandalised expressions.

"Um, remember the giant squid?" Juliette asks worriedly.

"Hey, she survived Spencer Richardson's slime; I'm sure the squid's a lovely guy in comparison," Ruby smirks. "Although I don't fancy your chances of freezing to death. Sure you don't belong in Gryffindor? Seems more like their daring, kind of stupid thing!"

"No takers?" I grin. "I'll freeze all on my own, then."

"Oh!" Blossom exclaims, looking at her watch. "I didn't realise how late it was getting...think we'd better get some sleep before tomorrow?"

There's a chorus of assent and everyone hurries about, digging out pyjamas and toothbrushes and racing to the bathroom.

Five minutes later the lights are out and I'm curled under the patchwork quilt. A soft rain has started outside, pattering off the roofs, making our dorm seem even more snug and sheltered. An oncoming sleepiness dulls my nerves for tomorrow. Even the sting of my encounter with Spencer Richardson fades; I have friends already.

I sigh contentedly and sink further into the mattress, letting myself drift slowly into sleep.


	5. Failures and Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoy this chapter, in which Lockhart is useless and Ron is most pleased with Diana's self-defence techniques :)

We're up early the next morning, bright-eyed and nervous and eager to please. Blossom must have checked the contents of her bag ten times, meticulously inspecting all her books and quills. Only Ruby seems to struggle to get up, emerging reluctantly from her four-poster with her hair standing on end. It's still no match for mine, though; I eye Additri's glossy black sheet and Juliette's corkscrew curls enviously as I attempt to coax my mane into a ponytail band. I also struggle with my tie for a good five minutes, only finally perfecting it with the aid of the bathroom mirror.

"Come on, Diana - breakfast!" Blossom calls from the dorm, obviously worried that my dawdling will hold us up.

"Be there in a second!" I shout through, but before I move away I study my reflection one last time. My wizarding robes swamp me slightly, since I bought ones I could grow into, but the elegant swathes of black fabric look a whole lot better than my old uniform. My dark eyes are keen, my hazel hair trying hard to escape its ponytail. Sometimes I wish it wasn't so light - people seem to think dark eyes and hair look nicer together, or at least I think I heard that when I was eavesdropping on some older girls at the park. I do my best to flatten it, but eleven years have taught me that it's futile. I straighten my yellow-and-black striped tie for the tenth time, the hard-to-put-on symbol of my belonging, and let an excited smile spread over my face as I run out to rejoin my friends.

* * *

 

"And the events of 1382 led to the Cross-Species Diplomatic Treaty of 1383, which was finalised in 1388 to limited success…" I suppress a yawn. I swear, Professor Binns' voice could be bottled and sold as a cure for insomnia. I shake my head in my millionth attempt to focus on what he's saying, but within minutes my mind's wandering again.

I glance over at Additri and Blossom - both seem engaged, their quills moving at an impressive speed. I sheepishly jot down a couple more dates on my page of very sparse notes and vow to pay closer attention. It's my first lesson, after all; I really shouldn't be wearing thin so quickly. At least Ruby, sitting next to me, seems equally inattentive, her expression vacant as she fiddles with one of her blonde bunches.

After five more minutes I look down and see that my newest attempt at making relevant notes has descended into doodling a very scrappy Slovakian Sunbeam in the corner of my parchment. I'm about to chastise myself and make another attempt at actually learning when Ruby elbows me in the ribs. She looks a lot more alert now. "Oi," she whispers, offering me a piece of parchment and a grin. "Feel like a game of hangman?"

"You're on," I mutter, returning the grin and trying to blot out the image of Hermione's disapproving face as it swims into my mind.

Twenty minutes and six games later (four-two to her) the bell cuts through the almost universal stupur our class is experiencing, and Binns reluctantly calls his monotonous lecture to a halt.

"An essay on the Treaty of 1382, for next Tuesday, please!" He croaks, as everyone starts packing away.

I stuff my parchment and quills into my satchel and turn to wait for the others. Additri is carefully rolling her three pages of neatly written notes into a series of scrolls.

"Wow!" I say with a little envy (and more than a little guilt), nodding towards her work. "That looks amazing...how are you guys so awake?"

"History was always my favourite subject." Additri says earnestly. "It's even better with goblins in it!"

I smile weakly. "Er...what's next?"

Blossom checks her timetable, which she's already colour-coded. "Herbology - Greenhouse One."

That doesn't sound too bad - the fresh air should wake me up a bit at least. And it'll be a chance to meet our Head of House, Professor Sprout.

"That was dull." Juliette says as we emerge from the castle into the crisp morning air. "Herbology might be a bit more fun!"

I'm too distracted by our surroundings to reply. The leaves are still holding strong, only curling slightly at the edges, but a few have begun to surrender to the shades of amber and russet that mark out my favourite season. I can just make out the great lake, far ahead of us, its water a pale, pearly grey, lapping the banks temptingly. It looks a lot more inviting than it did last night; already I'm itching to swim in it before winter snatches the chance from me.

As we near the greenhouses, I spot the huge gnarled tree that can only be the Whomping Willow. Several of its branches are bent at awkward angles, wrapped in bandages that flutter in the light breeze. I grin to myself. The Great Hall was buzzing with the story of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's crash landing this morning at breakfast and as eventful as my train journey was, I'm a little disappointed I've never seen a flying car in action. Sadly, I didn't see Hermione, so I couldn't scope out her reaction; I'd bet all the Galleons I own she wasn't pleased in the slightest with her friends' method of arrival. It also meant I couldn't ask her how she felt about my Sorting.

I drag my eyes away from the wounded Willow as we approach a series of greenhouses.

"This is it," Blossom says, coming to stop outside the first one and nodding towards the Greenhouse One sign pinned on the door. I can make out the muffled sound of laughter and chatter from inside, and vague green shapes cling to the walls, obscured by the slightly cloudy glass.

We push open the door and enter. I stop still, taking in the scene.

Green vines cling to the walls, their bright blossoms blooming, dying and reviving within seconds. A group of tall crimson cacti sit in one corner, their spines glistening ominously, and maybe my eyes are playing tricks but I could swear that one of the mushrooms piled in a bucket on the wooden counter just jumped.

"Wow," I breathe. Our teacher clanging her trowel against a flowerpot to silence the din shakes me out of my awe-fueled trance pretty quickly.

"Morning, everyone! Welcome to Herbology." Professor Sprout is a small, friendly-looking witch with patched robes and flyaway hair that I vaguely recognise from yesterday's feast. "Tables of four, please!" She announces, gesturing towards the small tables. Our gang of five loiters indecisively for a moment; then I spot Greg over Juliette's shoulder. He's alone. I bite my lip - I'd hoped that his crippling shyness might have eased up enough for him to make some friends in his dorm. Apparently not.

"It's OK, you guys make a four; I'll go," I tell my dorm-mates, watching Greg dither by the door.

"Are you sure, Diana?" Blossom asks worriedly.

"Yep - I just need to make sure Greg's alright. I'll try and get a table next to you!"

"Alright...see you in a bit!" Juliette says, waving as I make my way towards Greg.

"Hi!" I say brightly. "You alright?"

He looks up at me with his signature nervousness. "Um...I don't know who to go with…"

"It's fine, you can come with me." I say. "Um, if you want to? I mean, you might want to go with the guys from your dorm-"

"No thanks, I'll go with you." He says quickly. It's about the most decisive I've ever heard him.

"Alright then," I smile, scanning the room. "Now to find two other people…"

It looks like the Hufflepuff boys have snagged a table of four as well, while the nearest table consists of Gryffindor girls (I vaguely recognise Ginny Weasley by her bright red hair). There's a sudden shout from behind me.

"Diana! Greg! Over here!" I turn round. Atticus is waving me over from a table in the far corner where he sits with Chance.

"Well, look who it is! I didn't realise we'd have Herbology together," I grin, hurrying over to their table with Greg in tow and shoving my bag underneath.

Chance doesn't look up as we sit down. "Hi," I say, trying to act on last night's benefit-of-the-doubt policy. He grunts slightly, which isn't the most promising start. I turn to Atticus.

"You must be happy!" I nod towards his red-and-gold striped tie, which he's folded on with clear precision.

"Very." He nods solemnly, going to unnecessarily straighten it again. "It's been brilliant - even better than I imagined - last night there was a full-on party after the flying car incident!"

"I bet my sister wasn't too happy about that," I say, picturing her reaction.

"Come to think of it, she did disappear off quite quickly..."

A strange feeling flutters in my stomach at the thought that Atticus and his fellow Gryffindors now know my sister's whereabouts and actions better than I do. It probably isn't made any better by the fact that I haven't had the chance to actually talk to her since yesterday afternoon.

"Anyway, I thought you'd be joining us, after yesterday!" He interrupts my slightly pensive train of thought.

"Nope, Hufflepuff for us," I say, inclining my head towards Greg in an attempt to include him.

"Happy with Hufflepuff, Greg?" Atticus asks. It's possible he's caught on to what I'm trying to do, but probably more likely that he's just being his usual talkative, friendly self.

Either way, he only gets a quiet "Yep" and a nervous half-smile from Greg. Well, it's a start.

"Seriously, congratulations." I smile. "I'm glad you got into Gryffindor."

"Did you see how quickly that Hat chose for me? It must've been up there with the shortest ever!" He says excitedly.

"Mate, you know you can't judge by that." Chance pipes up.

Atticus grins, uncharacteristically slyly. "Says the one whose Sorting took longer."

"It wasn't on my head properly at first, that's why it couldn't decide!" Chance yowls.

"Quiet down, everyone!" Professor Sprout orders. The chatter dies down. I turn my attention to the plants on her table; large purple bulbs, topped with green leaves, enclosed in pots. They look surprisingly tame."Bouncing Bulbs!" She announces, gesturing to the aubergine-coloured tubers. "Very useful, they are, especially for the Pompion Potion. They can grow to the size of a doorway - but only if they're frequently repotted to allow them room to grow. That's what you're going to be doing."

A Hufflepuff boy with an impressive afro sticks up his hand.

"Yes, Mr Blair?"

"Why are they called Bouncing Bulbs, Professor?"

"Ah," she pulls on some thick gloves. "Watch carefully." I stand on my tiptoes and peer over the tables as she undoes the buckles I hadn't realised were holding the Bulb in place. The tuber rockets out and bounces across the table, before Professor Sprout expertly catches it, slides it into a second, larger pot and buckles it down.

"Simple enough, you see," She says. "Keep a nice firm grip on them and make sure you've fastened all the buckles. Right, everyone come up and grab a few Bulbs and pots - the larger ones, please."

There's a mad rush for Bulbs and pots. I unbuckle mine relatively confidently - it can't be that hard, right? - but the second it isn't restrained it pops out with surprising speed.

"Got it….got it...ah!" The Bulb escapes my clumsy clutches and leaps over my right shoulder, bouncing over the floor. I dive and pin it down, emerging muddied but triumphant with the Bulb in my arms. From across the room, I spot Ruby laughing her head off; I stick out my tongue in retaliation.

I've just finished wrestling it into its pot and strapping it down - with great difficulty - when Professor Sprout comes up behind me.

"Miss Granger, could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure," I say, bemused, and follow her into the corner of the greenhouse. The din of chattering voices and trowels on plant pots should more or less drown out our conversation, though I'm pretty sure the nearest table - ours - can still hear.

"I just needed to have a quick word with you, Diana," Professor Sprout says. She looks so serious that my stomach lurches with nerves.

"What's wrong, Professor?" I ask, anxiously.

"Well," she sighs. "There's been a report that you used combative magic yesterday, before the Sorting. Did you?'

The memory of last night's altercation comes crashing to the forefront of my mind.

"I did." I say slowly. "I know I shouldn't have, and I'm sorry. But I really wasn't trying to hurt anyone - my wand was pointed in the air and I was only trying for sparks anyway."

"Then why did you do it?"

I chew my lip, deciding what to say. Might as well go for the truth. "I was trying to prove myself." I say.

"Why?" She frowns.

"There was - someone - who was saying I wasn't a real witch. That I was a Muggle."

"She's telling the truth, Professor!" Atticus chimes in earnestly, then suddenly flushes in realisation. "Oh- sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop - I just-"

Professor Sprout shakes her head, clearly amused. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't, Mr Stark, but you have all the same, so you might as well say what's on your mind."

"Well, he called her a Muggle. And a Mu-" He stops short. "Uh - well, something a lot worse, as well."

"Disgraceful!" She's shocked, clearly guessing the slur in question. "Who was this?"

He looks ready to spill, but I frantically shake my head behind Professor Sprout's back. I don't want the teachers to know that it was Richardson, and I'm not even sure why not. Maybe because that's what he'll be expecting of me - a frightened Muggle-born, running to the teachers for help - maybe because I want to settle the score without the school knowing. Either way, Atticus stays silent.

Professor Sprout sighs. "Well, if neither of you will tell me who this was, there's nothing much I can do. I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore about the incident, of course, but I don't think much will come of it. For what it's worth, Diana, I'm very sorry about it. That shouldn't have been your first experience at Hogwarts."

I smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say. "Um, thank you. It's alright though, I'd forgotten all about it."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to have a detention." She tells me. "Sorry - standard for using combative magic without permission. Well, that or deducting House points, but I assumed-"

"Oh, please don't deduct points," I say hurriedly. Nothing would set a worse first impression to the rest of my House than losing them points before my first day's up. "A detention's fine, really."

"Good to hear it, because I didn't desperately want my own House losing points either, I must say." She breaks into a frank smile. "Well, you can take your detention with me, anyway. Tomorrow evening, 7 o'clock, here. You can help me with some Mandrake sprouts."

Inwardly, I'm relieved. I've heard about how awful Snape's detentions are - and I wouldn't want to be trapped in close quarters with Filch, the permanently angry-looking caretaker, either - but spending a couple of hours in the greenhouse with Professor Sprout doesn't sound too awful. I secretly wonder if she's deliberately given me an easy time of it out of sympathy, but instead I just nod. "Thank you, Professor."

"Very good, Miss Granger," she says briskly. "You can return to your work. It looks like Mr Onyssen needs some assistance with his Bulb." She nods towards Greg, who's struggling to keep his Bulb from bouncing onto the floor. Atticus helps him restrain it whilst I grab a larger pot; Greg mumbles his gratitude.

"Thanks for that," I tell Atticus after we've rescued Greg.

"No problem," he shrugs. "But why didn't you want to land Richardson in it? You can't say he doesn't deserve it."

I pause, chewing on my lip. "I know." I say. "I just… I don't know, I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's got to me."

For a second there's silence. Atticus looks concerned, Chance sceptical. (Greg still looks scarred from his Bulb's attempted escape.)

"Which he hasn't," I say fiercely, slamming the lid onto my pot so hard that my Bulb quivers with shock - maybe more to convince myself than anyone else. "I couldn't care less what a git like him thinks of me."

By the end of the lesson, Atticus has managed to repot twelve Bulbs, Chance and I six, and Greg four (I'm childishly displeased not to have outdone Chance) but Professor Sprout collects the repotted plants with seeming satisfaction. Even if it doesn't seem like I have green fingers, I'm pretty happy to have a lesson with Atticus (even if I can't say the same for his friend).

"What've you got next?" I ask him as the lesson comes to a close.

"Potions." He pulls a face. "I'm pretty sure we have it with the Slytherins. Wish us luck!"

"Well, we might be needing it too - we have that Lockhart bloke now."

"I'd take him over Richardson." He says darkly.

"Yeah, good luck with that." I grimace and pick up my bag. "See you soon?"

"See you, Diana! And Greg!" I wave as we move off, and Greg manages a half-smile. Chance gives his signature grunt.

My dorm-mates are waiting for me by their table. "Want to come with us to Defence?" I ask Greg. It might be a good way of getting him talking to other people.

He eyes the group with trepidation. "It's OK. I - I have to pick something up from the common room."

I watch regretfully as he hurries off, then go to rejoin my friends.

* * *

 

I get the feeling a lot of people aren't sharing my absolute dread for Defence. We're being taught by a celebrity - I guess I must seem like the mad one for being so disinterested. Then again, I guess celebrity admiration is something that varies from person to person, and I can't have control over what some of my dorm-mates think of Gilderoy Lockhart. Even if I'm kind of wishing I could have exactly that as we shuffle into the classroom and a dozen adoring pairs of eyes settle on our teacher.

He's in his element here, amongst young school kids who don't know much better. Flittering about the classroom with theatrical enthusiasm, constantly running his hands through his hair. I'm almost telling myself the next time I see that, hexing's going to be the only option. Maybe I should make him go bald? That'd be way beyond my abilities, but Hermione'd probably know how to do it - though she wouldn't like me threatening her object of affection. Still, he might be off school for at least two months trying to grow back some wisps of his famous locks - that's pretty tempting.

I try to tell myself I shouldn't be so childish...but can I really be blamed? I've had months of Hermione twittering relentlessly about him - to a point where the mere mention of his name makes me want to groan in despair.

I set down my bag on a desk near the front with some relief - it's unusually heavy, thanks to carrying Lockhart's complete works - and Blossom settles next to me.

"Excited?" She asks in an undertone.

"Eh." I shrug. "Defence sounds cool...not too sure about Blondie." I nod towards our teacher, who's now busy writing his name on the blackboard in very curly, elaborate lettering.

"Juliette is." Blossom giggles, nodding to the desk behind us, where Juliette is watching Lockhart with an expression not unlike the one Atticus gets when confronted with anything vaguely Gryffindor-related.

Lockhart finishes his final letter with a great flourish, then spins round to face us.

"Students, students! Of course you're excited for your first lesson with a celebrity such as myself...But," he says, clapping his hands together theatrically. "I must have quiet to introduce myself - not that I need to, it seems!" He gestures towards the pile of textbooks on our desk and winks. "So: me. Gilderoy Lockhart - Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award." The smile in question is currently very smug, clearly pleased with the length of that list.

"Now, I've just taught a very successful lesson to the second-year Gryffindors - rest assured, they know exactly how to deal with freshly caught Cornish pixies! But for you, I think that may be a little too advanced; nothing to be ashamed of, everyone has to start somewhere, don't they? Even me!" He gives a heart chuckle. "So, I thought that we could start off nice and easy - please could everyone turn to page 1 of Wanderings with Werewolves?"

For a moment I hope he's joking - that he's about to reveal it's all some elaborate prank and the real day's work is hidden somewhere behind this wonderful smokescreen. That being a smokescreen constructed of nothing but an ego trip. Then I realise this is Professor Lockhart who's teaching and I'm deluding myself with my own pitiful desperation.

As I pull out the book I let my eyes flicker around the classroom and almost outwardly breathe a sigh of relief. Juliette and Additri are gazing at our teacher with the same delight Hermione showcases whenever I make the mistake of mentioning him, but for every dreamy smile, there's a frown of abject dismay or outright annoyance at his poor show of teaching. Ruby looks like she'd personally rather be babysitting a teething Chinese Fireball and her partner Kelvin Blair - he of the enviably impressive jet-black afro - has rolled his eyes so many times for a second I worry his eyeballs might get permanently stuck behind his eyelids. Fellow Hufflepuff boys Ben Hale and Javier Ramos look similarly disinterested, what with the way they're passing notes as Lockhart prattles on about whatever story he's trying to impress us with. I want to say he's at least a good storyteller - you know, being the author of so many best-sellers (popularity doesn't account for taste, as my dad likes to say - and I have to agree with him) - but even that compliment would be false. His voice isn't as sleep inducing as Professor Binns' is, but the undercurrent of unbearable smugness is almost headache-inducing.

Nausea almost barrels into my stomach when I notice the enraptured delight shining in Juliette's bright eyes. Bursting my friend's bubble isn't right, but Lockhart isn't deserving of her admiration. At least illegal dragon breeders, for example, are doing something with their lives - not torturing unsuspecting children with self-satisfied ego-stroking.

"'Gilderoy shook back his golden curls and stood in triumph with the voices of a hundred eternally grateful villagers singing his well-deserved praises. The hero knew that another evil had been vanquished.' Ah, what a story." Lockhart smiles wistfully and snaps the book shut. "Yet another terrible villain defeated with a trusty Lockhart spell! Now, students," he smiles down at us. "I would like you to have a crack at it."

At this point I realise the cost of completely tuning out of his reading; I have no idea what's going on. "Uh, what spell's that?" I mutter to Blossom.

"Expelliarmus. The Disarming Charm?" She whispers, confused. "Weren't you listening?"

"I got distracted." I pull my wand out of my bag, unsure. One of the things Hermione impressed on me almost immediately was that magic is a lot more complex than just saying an incantation and hoping for the best. I guess I'd expected more instruction; wand movements, intonation and everything. Admittedly, I did stop listening to the teacher halfway through his 'lecture' - but I'm willing to bet there was zero helpful information in it.

I turn to Blossom. "Um - alright then - want to try and Disarm each other?"

"Sure!" She says, getting up from her seat. I follow her lead. "You first?!"

"Right." I hold my wand steady and focus all my energy on hers. "Expelliarmus!" Her wand doesn't move an inch. "Hm."

Clearly I'm not alone in my uncertainty. There are several tentative mutterings around the class, but no successful disarming. Additri seems distracted, focusing intently on Lockhart, inhaling deeply as if gathering her nerve. I'm about to ask what's up when she slowly raises her hand.

"Yes, dear?" Lockhart asks, flashing her the famous smile.

"Um, well - I was just thinking that it might help us if you'd demonstrate, Professor!"

Silence doesn't descend - it plummets across the room. Everyone's eyes are now fixed on Lockhart expectantly, including my own, gauging a reaction from our prideful teacher. For the briefest of seconds he almost looks taken aback at her boldness himself. It's unlikely he was expecting one of his own fanclub to ask for him to prove his 'legendary' prestige.

But I'm certain even Additri knows he can't back down now - in front of a first year class nonetheless. No way is he going to somehow wriggle his way out of a demonstration. My inner nasty side is filled with delight; this'll beat listening to him drone on and on from his own book.

"Right, yes, a demonstration! Indeed!" He announces, clapping his hands together as he moves away from his desk to stand before us all. I glance over and notice a pile of what looks suspiciously like fanmail sat amongst the unmarked essays and curriculum sheets. I'm not surprised that Lockhart isn't taking his teaching responsibilities too seriously. For him, only fame is worth attention. Maybe that's why his ego is so inflated?

He keeps flicking his eyes back to us all nervously, though, trying to read our expressions as we stare at him expectantly, silently delighted at a potential display of either magic or colossal failure. I'm pretty sure Juliette is literally holding her breath at this spectacle.

"Ahem. Er, volunteers? It takes two to demonstrate a Disarming Charm, you know." Lockhart looks around us all, before a voice pipes up from the back of the room.

"Um...go on, then."

Richard Finch-Fletchley steps forwards, easing his way through the desks and making his way up to the front. I have to be honest, I'm pretty impressed. Richard never struck me as someone who'd put himself in such a spotlight, especially with his own brother being victim to Lockhart's spell. Good on him for taking the plunge (which I shamefully wouldn't do myself).

Pointing his arm out in front of him and adjusting his posture slightly - it's like watching an actor priss up for a shot before a camera starts rolling, but even then actors have genuine reasons - Lockhart allows himself one last glance (and I'm certain there's uncertainty blinking back at all of us) before swishing his wand elegantly in the direction of Richard's own and letting out a booming. "Expelliarmus!"

Nothing happens. Richard frowns quizzically.

"Ahem." Lockhart coughs. "Well. That was just a warm-up, you see, just to demonstrate the appropriate incantation. This time, I shall show you a true Disarming!" He hoists up the sleeves of his turquoise robes as if he means business. Drawing back his wand with an elaborate flourish, he again bellows "Expelliarmus!"

Richard's wand twitches slightly, but does not fly out of his grasp. The awkward silence resettles. From behind me, a couple of the boys laugh; I can see Ruby's devilish grin out of the corner of my eye.

Lockhart looks momentarily crestfallen, then suddenly gives a hearty (if slightly forced) chuckle. "Ah, I see what's going on here!" He walks across the room and pats Richard on the shoulder. "Not to worry, Mr... er, Fletch-Finchley, not to worry at all. You're very new to this - why, it's your first lesson! Of course you might not be able to be correctly Disarmed yet - but you will. All in good time, you see."

Richard looks intensely confused. "But, Professor - we aren't supposed to be Disarmed, are we? It's good to keep hold of a wand in a duel! Surely the one actually casting the spell-"

"Right, I think that's enough excitement for one lesson!" Lockhart interrupts loudly, looking rather flustered. Obviously his attempt to save face didn't work. "For homework - kindly continue reading Wanderings With Werewolves, to Chapter Ten, please, and take notes. Oh, and I wouldn't mind a nice illustration or two alongside those. I'd like a few more pictures to decorate my office." He throws yet another wink our way abruptly turns around and begins shuffling the fanmail on his desk.

As people start surging towards the door, unhappy mutterings crop up amongst the sea of bodies, with some dark looks being thrown back over shoulders towards where Lockhart's looking at his fanmail. If he even cares slightly about his destruction of our education he's hiding it well with the self-congratulating smile that's already replaced the embarrassment that'd rippled across his face when he'd been publicly shown up.

I don't even have the energy to involve myself in the insults that start flying once we're out the door - can't be bothered paying Lockhart more attention. I have no interest in drawing him a picture (surprise, surprise) but I want to get away from Additri and Juliette before they start swooning again. At the moment I don't think I can take any more pandering towards Lockhart after he's done a good job proving his own uselessness.

No, I'm much more interested in finding my sister. At least I know she'll be with Harry and Ron, neither of whom are exactly hopeless victims where Lockhart's 'charm' is concerned. If they're not in the Gryffindor common room - the most likely port of call - they might be outside.

"Want to come to the library?" Blossom asks us all after we've cleared the crush in the corridor. "I want to start on my homework."

There's a chorus of assent from the rest of my dorm-mates.

"I might go for a walk by the lake," I say, eager to avoid any more talk of Lockhart and anxious to look for Hermione.

"Alright - see you later then?" Blossom smiles.

"See you tonight!" I wave as I make my way out of the castle. Down by the lake, I spot a few Ravenclaws - Farlan McCarthy, Xander Callisto and Patti Freemand - stood off towards the trees, laughing about something, but blissfully I've managed to avoid the dreaded Richardson so far. After Lockhart, an encounter with him would be the breaking point for my sanity.

I watch the lake's water for a second, now a slightly stormier shade of grey, its ripples almost hypnotic. There's a (slightly crazy) part of me that's longing to jump in, but I'm quickly distracted by the sound of my name being shouted.

"Diana!" I turn around and spot Hermione running towards me, her friends following a few paces behind. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

A smile spreads across my face face as she reaches me and immediately wraps me into a hug. "I was looking for you, too!" I say into her shoulder. We break out of the embrace, but her arm's still thrown across my shoulder affectionately.

"I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to talk to you yet!" She says at top speed. "Things have been rather hectic, what with someone stealing a flying car and vandalising the Whomping Willow-"

"Let it go, Hermione." Ron moans, catching his breath.

"- and I didn't manage to catch you at breakfast or lunch." She ploughs on, ignoring him. "Anyway, how are you? Are you happy to be in Hufflepuff?"

"Yeah, I'm really happy." I say, honestly. "I mean, I was a bit disappointed not to be with you, but Hufflepuff feels right. I have really nice dorm-mates."

"And how was your first day?"

"Great!" I say, deciding to skim over my less-than-excellent performances. "I think I might have a swim in the lake on Saturday."

She nods. "And I'd like to take you to see Hagrid, as well. How about tomorrow evening?"

"Sounds good!" I nod, then remember my detention. "Oh - it'll have to be before half seven, though."

Hermione frowns suspiciously. "Why?"

She's not going to like this. I shift from one foot to the other, avoiding her gaze. "Uh… I have a detention."

"What?!" She gasps, letting go of my shoulder abruptly. "Already?! What on earth for?"

Ron whistles under his breath. "Good effort," he grins at me. I return it a little sheepishly.

"Be quiet, Ron." Hermione snaps. "Why did you get a detention?"

"I used combative magic outside of lessons..."

"What?!"

"It wasn't my fault!" I protest. "Well, not really. This guy said I was a Muggle, so I shot a couple of sparks just to prove him wrong."

She pauses. "Who was it?"

I scrunch up my nose, trying to decide whether I should tell her. "He's called Spencer Richardson." I say eventually. "Pure-blood, rich. Total pain."

"Sounds like your year has a Draco Malfoy, too." Harry says, in tones of sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Diana." My sister says gravely. "But you still shouldn't use combative magic outside lessons."

"Oh, come on, Hermione! It sounds like this guy was asking for it." Ron protests.

"It was only White Sparks, anyway!" I say.

Hermione's quiet for a second, chewing her lip. Then she speaks up again in a slightly different tone. "You used Alballius successfully?"

"Yep. Well, mostly." I say, recalling my small but nonetheless existent sparks.

"Well. Don't do it again, Diana," she says, but there's a steely hint in her eyes that I'm fairly certain is pride.


	6. A Fellow Dragon Enthusiast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this chapter, in which there's a greasy-haired Potions master and Hagrid says too much...

I tap my feet apprehensively as we wait. Even though I was yet again bored out of my mind in History of Magic this morning, I'd pay to be have it again this period.

"What's wrong?" Blossom asks, noticing my fidgeting.

"I've heard a few horror stories about Potions," I say, recalling Hermione's tales of Professor Snape. I've only caught brief glimpses of him so far, but his curtain of greasy black hair and perpetually sour face haven't made me eager for a closer acquaintance.

"It'll be fine." She says, attempting reassurance, but I can't help but notice that she doesn't look too certain herself. On top of my edginess about Snape, I'm faintly worried about Greg - he hasn't turned up, and when I asked the other Hufflepuff boys if they'd seen him I came up empty. They all seem friendly, but I'm pretty sure he still hasn't said more than three words to any of them.

"Enter." A cold voice calls from inside the classroom, jolting me back to my more immediate worry. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students begin to trickle inside and hover awkwardly by the doorway. Inside, the dungeon is dimly lit, with a slight air of foreboding - though it's slightly warmer than the chilly corridor.

Professor Snape is sitting behind his desk, watching us file inside with an expression of indifference. Once everyone's in, he stands up slowly, the draping sleeves of his cloak giving the impression that he's unfolding a pair of bat-like wings. The room is dead silent.

He fixes us all with his frosty black gaze. "You are here to-"

He's interrupted by Greg racing into the dungeon, wheezing and red in the face. His bag's almost falling off his shoulder, his tie rakish, making him look even more chaotic.

"S-sorry I'm late!" He squeaks. "Got - got lost…"

Snape's eyes rest on him for a moment, his face the epitome of scorn.

"As I was saying," he goes on, without acknowledging Greg at all. "Today, you shall be procuring the Boil-Cure Potion - a concoction so simple that, first-years or not, I expect _everyone_ to be successful. You will be working in pairs."

Greg glances about wildly, clearly trying to catch my eye. I'm just about to nod in confirmation (even though I had kind of hoped to work with one of my dorm-mates - nevermind) when Snape smirks, clearly noticing our exchange. "Pairs which _I_ will be selecting."

Greg looks crestfallen, and a little nervous, but I feel nothing but annoyance. A teacher selecting the pairs is fair enough, but I _know_ he did it just to spite Greg for being a millisecond late to his precious class. It's only our second day - does he expect us to know the castle perfectly?

"Mr Hale, with Miss Lovegood." He starts splitting us off into pairs, seemingly at random. "Miss Sharma, with Miss Stormhaven…"

"Mr Onyssen, with Mr Callisto." Snape points Greg towards a table at the back. His partner is a Ravenclaw whose blue-striped tie is knotted loosely, carelessly. He's tall and built like an ox, with bronze skin and a head of mussed-up black hair. He looks effortlessly cool; I'm pretty sure Snape deliberately paired Greg with the most intimidating student he could find.

"Miss Freemand, with-" his eyes flicker from the Ravenclaw girl he's selected and come to settle on me. I squirm slightly, fairly certain he's noticing my likeness to Hermione, quickly confirmed by my surname. "Miss _Granger_." He points us towards the table in front of Greg and his partner, derisively lingering on my name a little longer than necessary.

I have a feeling it's no coincidence that I end up on a table with none of my dorm-mates. My partner is a Ravenclaw girl with chin-length dark blonde waves and round blue eyes, with a face that promises she's going to grow up to be enviably pretty at some point, (though her uncertain expression suggests that she believes otherwise) - I faintly recognise her from the Sorting, and from last night by the lake, as Patti Freemand. Across the table from us are fellow Hufflepuff Kelvin Blair and a Ravenclaw girl with pale skin - so pale that for a second I wonder if she's feeling well - narrow spectacles and a slightly sour expression.

At the front of the classroom, I notice Blossom has been partnered with Richard Finch-Fletchley. From the sound of her faint giggle, I get the feeling that she isn't too upset about Snape's pairing policy.

"Instructions are on Page Four of your textbooks!" Snape declares.

I flip open my textbook at page four. This is a simple potion, supposedly, but the instructions take up two pages. I gulp.

"I dunno what I was expecting. It was hardly going to be like baking a cake." I say to my partner. "But this looks difficult…"

She snaps on a pair of reading glasses and peers at the page. "Hm. Feel like grinding up the snake fangs?"

I nod and take out my mortar and pestle, glad to hear the relative confidence in her voice, and also pleased to have something vaguely useful to do; Kelvin looks completely superfluous to requirements, his partner already steamrolling through the reading, chopping and stirring all by herself. Before I can say anything more Snape's voice slices through the din.

"Be sure to follow those instructions carefully, because I'll be inspecting the results at the end of the lesson, and anyone whose Potion is not up to scratch will be receiving additional homework." He punctuates his sentence with a slight sneer.

"I don't much like him," Patti says under her breath as she slices her Pungous Onions.

"Me neither." I mutter, crushing up the fangs with some difficulty.

"Head of Slytherin." She says. "What a surprise."

I giggle, a little sheepishly. "Not a fan?" I ask.

"Oh, some of them are alright, I'm sure. But I haven't had a great time with their new golden boy." She deftly dices dried nettles and tests the cauldron's heat with the back of her index finger.

I pause in my crushing and frown. "You mean-"

"Spencer Richardson, yes." She cuts over my tentative venture.

At the sound of that name, the girl on the other side of the table, who's as yet seemed completely engrossed in the textbook, looks up sharply, but says nothing.

"What happened?" I ask warily.

"Oh, we had Herbology with the Slytherins this morning. I dared to correct one of his fanclub - the one with the huge nose, you know? - because he said a Bouncing Bulb was a Bubotuber. Honestly, they look _nothing_ alike…"

She scoops my crushed snake fangs into the cauldron and stirs in the ingredients she's prepared.

"Anyway, Richardson wasn't impressed. Must have overheard me talking about Muggle music or TV or something because the next thing I know-" - she puts on a drawling, upper-crust tone - "' _if_ I _were a Muggle muddying up a place I clearly didn't belong I think I'd keep my mouth shut. But then, I don't claim to know how_ Muggles _think_.'"

"What a moron." I say, slamming down my jar of Shrake Spines. "What did you say?"

She bites her lip. "I sort of froze up. Xander spoke up for me, though, told him to take his own advice and keep his gob shut." She nods to Greg's partner, a few tables down. Greg still looks slightly terrified, but I look at him with increased respect.

"But I really wish I'd said something myself, now." She looks at me, and half-smiles. "Like - well, like you did, in the Entrance Hall, I guess."

I blush faintly. "Did - did you see that?"

She shakes her head. "I heard about it later that night, though. I don't think he's used to people talking back."

I shrug. "I probably shouldn't have done it, to be honest. It's got me a detention tonight."

"Worth it, though." She says, stirring the Potion vigorously. "We shouldn't have to put up with Richardson and his fanclub. It's not like we did anything to _them._ "

At this, the girl from across the table gives a very exaggerated cough.

"Something wrong, Carys?" Patti asks, looking up from the Potion and fixing her with a pointed stare.

"Nothing at all." The girl shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

"Didn't _sound_ like nothing." Patti says, putting down the ladle with a thud. "It sounded like you had a problem."

Tension settles over our table. Kelvin catches my eye and pulls a confused expression; I grimace in return and then focus intently on our Potion. I already have one detention; I really don't want to get tangled in _another_ argument. I pretend to be engrossed in adding Shrake Spines to the cauldron.

Carys sighs heavily, as if she's about to explain something very complicated. "I'm just thinking if you didn't want trouble, you probably shouldn't have gone mouthing off to his friends. That's all."

Patti clenches her fists under the table. " _Look_ -"

"Uhh…." I cut in, eyeing our Potion nervously. It's starting to bubble aggressively. Too late, I realise that I shouldn't have added the Shrake Spines before the powdered ginger.

Even more unfortunately, Snape chooses this exact moment to swoop over our shoulders and inspect our Potion. I cringe, waiting for his invariably negative verdict.

"Hm." His black eyes rake over our (slightly smoking) cauldron. I'm expecting a frown or tut, but instead I see a smirk spread slowly across his face. He turns to me specifically. "Well, it appears you don't share your sister's abilities. Even if you resemble her remarkably closely in...other areas." For a brief moment, he eyes my hair, which I know has become even more knotted and unruly than usual from the heat of the cauldrons.

I would stare him down (or try to, without withering under that intense stare) but I should probably focus on saving our concoction, which is beginning to congeal to the bottom of the cauldron.

"Turn the heat down, Diana," Patti orders. I'm in no position to question her clearly superior judgement so I oblige. My partner is clearly so engrossed in diluting the mixture and (expertly, I'm sure) fiddling with the temperature that she doesn't seem to notice the satisfied smile Carys wears at the sight of our failing Potion. But I do.

At the end of the lesson, Snape inspects each cauldron, coming away from most with criticism only. Still, it seems like Blossom and Richard have managed to create a near-perfect Boil-Cure Potion - I stand on tiptoe and view their softly simmering cauldron slightly enviously. Even Snape looks faintly impressed, though he quickly disguises it with his usual cold stare and only nods curtly before dismissing them.

After a lot of fiddling around, our Potion is salvageable, just about (no thanks to me). I think Patti at least deserves a 'well done' for bringing it back from the brink, but Snape gives her nothing but a jerk of the head. She packs up her kit and gets down, and I go to do the same, just thinking I've got away with it when Snape addresses me.

"Another 14 inches on your essay, Miss Granger, on exactly where you went wrong," he adds, clearly delighted at my lack of success. "And on how your _partner_ remedied it."

"Yes, Sir." I say without looking at him, just eager to get out of the classroom.

The corridor is as chilly as ever, but it's actually a relief after the heat of the cauldrons. Blossom and Additri are already waiting outside. Before I can go to join them, I spot Greg rushing out the door.

"You alright?" I ask as he hurries by. He looks all the worse for what I'm sure was an equally stressful Potions lesson for him. He gives a jerky nod and carries on scuttling, clearly not waiting behind to talk to anyone. I sigh and go to join my dorm-mates, who've now been joined by Ruby and Juliette. We move off and climb the sweeping staircase that leads towards the Great Hall.

" _That_ was fun," Juliette says sarcastically, once we're well away from the dungeons.

Additri groans. "He was so _scary._ "

"Tell me about it," I mumble.

Ruby shoots a sly sideways look at our apricot-haired friend, who looks significantly less weary than the rest of us. "Alright there, Blossom?"

Blossom blushes pink and narrows her eyes at Ruby (she still looks about as threatening as a bunny rabbit). "What are you smirking at?"

"Nothing, nothing." Ruby says, infuriatingly innocently. "Just noticed you looked like you were having a bit more fun than the rest of us. Fun - y'know, with a certain someone?"

This accusation lightens the mood considerably.

" _Richard?"_ Additri asks, grinning.

The blush deepens to fuschia. "No idea what you're talking about. I just - uh - like Potions, that's all." She looks around us all with a clear urge to change the subject. "Anyone want to come with me to the library? Start on those essays?"

"I can't." I say. "I've got to go and meet Hermione - she's taking me to see Hagrid."

"Bet you just want to escape a Snape essay." Ruby says.

"You're not wrong," I shrug. "See you in the common room later?"

There's a chorus of "See you later!"s as I hurry off towards the Entrance Hall. As promised, Hermione is waiting for me by the door, her nose stuck in a book. As I come to meet her, she snaps the volume shut and slips it in her bag. Only then does she study my face, which must still look pretty haggard.

"What's the matter?" She asks.

"Just had my first lesson with Snape." I say.

She grimaces. "Not too good?"

"Ask that to the fifty-foot long essay I have to write for homework." I say, then realise I'm complaining to the wrong person - to my sister, that probably sounds like fun.

"Well, it's over now. Come and meet Hagrid!"

We make our way out of the castle and over the sloping lawns of the grounds. It's a blustery day; there's a mischievous wind that tugs at our hair and coaxes the first leaves down from the trees. My spirits lift as we approach a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione reaches up and knocks three times on the door. Within moments, it's pulled open, and my eyes widen.

Before now, I've only seen Hagrid by weak lamplight - it doesn't prepare me for his sheer size, abundantly clear in the light of day. At least five times as wide as an average man and almost twice as tall, with hair so tangled and wild it makes mine seem tame by comparison. "Hermione!" He booms, delighted. "I was wonderin' went yeh'd come by!"

"Hello, Hagrid!" She smiles. "I brought my sister - this is Diana!"

His beetle-black eyes flicker warmly onto me. "Hello there! Bin wonderin' when Hermione would finally introduce yeh. Talks about yeh all the time, y'know!" He steps aside, with some difficulty, and ushers us inside. "Come in!"

I follow my sister, slightly nervously. The minute I'm inside my nervousness dissipates; a feeling of comfort and cosiness hangs heavy in the air. The hut is composed of only one room - hams dangle from the ceiling and there's a large copper kettle whistling on the open fire.

Hermione sits at the crooked wooden table and gestures for me to do the same. Hagrid bustles about behind us, taking the kettle and pouring a long stream of hot water into a large teapot. Finally, he takes a seat himself and looks to me.

"Alrigh', Diana? Yeh look a bit…" He studies my face, clearly searching for an adjective.

"Frazzled?" I suggest.

"Diana's just had her first Potions lesson, Hagrid." Hermione explains.

"Didn' go so well?" He asks. "I would o' thought yeh'd be all over it, bein' Hermione's sister! Cleverest studen' in that school, she is, I'm tellin' yeh." He looks at Hermione with obvious pride, and my sister flushes a little.

"Apparently not." I smile, slightly ruefully.

"Ah, well," Hagrid says matter-of-factly, setting three bucket-sized mugs down on the table with almost enough unintentional force to shatter them. "I was never great shakes at lessons mesself. Not fer ev'ryone, is it?"

"It's only been two days," Hermione says hastily, probably anxious that I don't write myself off just yet. "I'm sure you'll get better. Besides, you haven't even had lessons in everything yet - you might find a subject you're really good at next week!"

I'm slightly dubious about that, but I nod anyway as I pour myself a cup of tea. "I can't wait till third year - I just want to take Care of Magical Creatures." I say eagerly. Ever since Hermione mentioned the subjects students can opt for at the end of their second year, I've been dying to take it. Lessons outside, studying and looking after fascinating creatures… it certainly sounds a lot better than Potions.

Hagrid looks up with interest. "Care o' Magical Creatures, eh? Always me favourite, that was! Although, they did keep it a bit tame..."

"So no dragons, Diana." Hermione tells me sternly, then catches sight of Hagrid, who's jerked up with interest at the mention of dragons. "Honestly, you two are just the same."

"Nothing wrong with a little love for dragons." I grin.

"Yeh're a dragon fan too, then, Diana?" Hagrid asks.

I nod. "My favourite's the Slovakian Sunbeam." I say, picturing the white-gold scales and lithe, rosy wings illustrated in my book.

"Ah, the Sunbeam," He says, nodding with recognition. "Very beau'iful, they are, an' very fast too. But I prefer summat with a bit more power meself - a Hungarian Horntail's the best for me."

"Honestly, Hagrid," Hermione says. "Only you could reject a Slovakian Sunbeam for not being powerful enough!" Her tone is curt, but there's a definite shine of affection in her eyes as she shakes her head.

Hagrid gives a booming laugh. "I s'pose yer right, Hermione." He takes a gulp of tea. "But when yeh've raised yer own Norwegian Ridgeback…"

Then it's my turn to perk up with interest. "Well," I begin slowly. "I was wondering if you could tell me about the Norwegian Ridgeback. Norbert?"

His eyes flood with nostalgia. "Ah, Norbert… I had him from an egg, y'see. Had to keep it in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em. And then he hatched - ah, amazin', it was - remember that, Hermione?"

"Vividly." My sister says drily, taking a sip of her tea.

"Tiny, he was," Hagrid goes on, measuring out the distance with his hands. "An' so beau'iful. Yeh can imagine it, Diana, jus' the size of a kitten, fresh outta the egg."

"Wow." I breathe. The thought of a newly hatched dragon has me similarly misty-eyed.

"But then I had to give him up, see. Got a bit...big, I s'pose." Hagrid gives us a heavy smile. "Would o' loved to see him all grown up, though…"

If my sister's face is anything to go by, she is very glad indeed that she never saw Norbert grown up. I sympathise with Hagrid, though...I can't imagine actually having a dragon and then having to give it up, watching it slip through your fingertips…

I'm struck with a sudden idea. "I have a book on dragons - there's a fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback in that, lots of them!" I exclaim. "I could bring it?"

Hagrid nods enthusiastically. "Ah, that'd be great! Almost like seein' my Norbert fully grown!"

Hermione checks her watch anxiously. "We'd better go, Diana, you need to get some tea before your-" she purses her lips - "-detention."

"Yeah, you're right," I say hurriedly, eager to get off the topic and avoid another lecture.

"Thanks a lot for the tea, Hagrid!" My sister smiles, hopping off her stool.

"Ah, no problem at all," he says.

I follow my sister towards the door. "Good to meet you, Hagrid!" I smile.

"An' you too, Diana." He gives me a wink. "Good ter meet someone else who can appreciate a dragon!"

"See you soon!" Hermione waves as we exit the little house and start up the grassy slope. "You know," she begins to me. "I can probably help you with Potions - I kept all my notes from last year and they might come in useful for you, especially when you start studying Forgetfulness Potions…"

I'm only half-listening, murmuring assent to her ideas without really taking them in, as we make our way up to the castle. My mind is elsewhere. _A newly hatched dragon, no bigger than a kitten, blinking quickly and testing out its flimsy never-used wings…_


	7. Suzette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you like this chapter - we're finally introducing our second-most important character! (Beware of her wit.) We would be really grateful for any reviews if anyone has time :)

I wake unusually early on Saturday morning.

The light is tentative, reaching through the arched windows with tempting rosy fingers and gently illuminating the room. Our dorm is silent, apart from the odd snuffle and snore, indicating that I'm the only one awake. I slip out of bed and dress as quietly as possible, make my way into the empty common room.

I suppose I could use this time to get on with some homework, since I'm two library sessions' worth of work behind my friends. Or I could go out to the grounds, watch the sun rise over the castle, take a look at the Great Lake...

Within minutes I'm down by the water's edge, my cheeks flushed from the exertion and the slight chill in the air. _Well, I have all weekend for homework_ , I reason - slightly guiltily.

The lake is inviting, its surface smooth and glossy and practically begging me to jump in. Maybe it's a trick of the light, but it doesn't even look that cold. Grinning, I unpin my cloak, peel off my uniform, and jump in, before I have time to change my mind.

I was wrong. It's icy. I yelp and thrash my limbs, gasping with cold. My first few strokes ring with familiarity, but the comfort's kind of lost given the looming threat of hypothermia. I laugh out loud, slightly hysterically; I'm certainly awake now.

"Thought I was the only one mental enough to be in here!"

I stop and swivel around abruptly. I thought I was alone, besides the early-morning birds and the ominous possibility of the giant squid.

Looking up - which is a little hard to do with my hair stuck to my forehead and some of it falling in my eyes - I spot another person bobbing above the surface of the freezing water. For a brief moment, I'm filled with a panic - hearing another voice I instantly assume it's a much older student, which isn't helped by the fact girls' voices don't break in the same way our male counterparts' do. To my relief, it's a girl who looks about my age. As she swims towards me, I can make out her features in much closer detail. Her hair's darker than mine, judging by the near-black quality of it (thanks to being dunked under the water) and it falls down the sides of her face elegantly, especially in comparison to the mess mine's already become. Everything about her's ridiculously pretty. Pale, smooth skin, a heart-shaped mouth and long lashes that flutter against her high cheekbones. Her eyes are a bright, brilliant grey-green. She's the kind of girl who doesn't have to be a seventh year to be beautiful, but there isn't much point being jealous since she's smiling at me jokily.

I can't help but smile back.

"No!" I manage to shout back, despite the cold-induced tremor in my voice. "Wherever you find one nutter you get another attracted to the same spot! Call it a... genetic default we all share, or something!" I can only be thankful Hermione'd taught me that term - so I can hopefully impress her with a broad vocabulary, and not my total intolerance to icy water.

"Maybe!" Her laughter chimes softly, unlike my previous hysterical honking goose noises. "I like to think of myself as brave, though." I catch a hint of what I think is a French accent as she speaks this time, but before I can ask about it she's swimming towards me. "Or perhaps it's just stupidity?"

"Nah, we're toughening ourselves up for duelling." I grin, paddling further out to meet her. "A few mornings of this and we'll be streets ahead of them all." I tilt my head towards the castle, still cloaked in a thin veil of early-morning mist.

"Not one week into school and already tackling the Arctic conditions." She echoes, coming to a stop in front of me and treading water.

"You're in your first year, too, then?" I ask, doing the same.

"Yes," she replies, flicking her hair back gracefully. I relax a little. I worried that if she'd responded with a 'no' I'd have to bashfully explain my own lack of experience. There's something scarier about the upper years. Well, maybe not Hermione's; hers seems a little more on the inviting side - except for the boy known as Draco Malfoy, who has a face like a ferret and the pleasant nature of a weasel from everything I've heard. Not that mine is faring much better, what with Richardson...

"Me too!" I reply, ordering my thoughts away from pure-blood snobs. My companion gives me a similarly relieved smile and I feel my heart rate return to normal from its ever so brief state of panic. "To be honest, I was a little scared you were older than me. It sounds stupid, I know, but I'm not too confident about the upper years. Well, apart from my sister's, I guess!"

She nods then, putting me further at ease. "I know what you mean. I suppose I was lucky - I already have two older brothers here, so they told me what to expect. Well, my eldest brother did. The other one was too busy preening himself in front of a mirror, like usual!" She tuts, but there's some fondness shining in her eyes. If her brothers are anything like as naturally pretty as she is, vanity from them wouldn't shock me. "It is a bit of a family trait, I guess. He always tells me when you're pretty enough, you have the right to be arrogant!" She tilts her head at me inquisitively. "Your sister, will I have heard of her?"

"Hermione Granger?" I query.

"Ahh, she's friends with Harry Potter, yeah? Won Gryffindor 50 points at the end of last year?"

"That's her." I nod. "She's a genius, always has been."

"Does it run in the family?" My companion arches her slender eyebrows.

I look down. "Nope. I'm super average. Probably below, actually!" Despite my grin, this is a slightly sore point for me, especially after my extremely beige performance in my first lessons this week.

There's a pause. "Not at swimming." She offers, smiling. "You're really good at not freezing to death!"

"Likewise!" I laugh, looking up again. "I guess I've always really enjoyed it."

"Me too! I used to swim in the Mediterranean when we lived in France." She casts an eye over the steel-coloured sky and matching water, slightly wistfully. "It was a little warmer than this."

I almost sigh in relief at her admission. Now I won't have to worry about awkwardly misplacing her accident and possibly offending her by assuming the wrong area of Europe (or even Canada). "You lived in France?" I ask. "How long for?"

"Well, technically we still do, in part," she explains. "My parents still own property out there and we tend to visit at least once a year. Most of our family is there, you see," she adds, pushing hair out of her face from where it's beginning to stick to her cheeks. I can see the slight remnants of a natural tan beginning to peek through now that she's adjusting to the cold. "Then again, if I'd told you my name you probably would've guessed where I was from!" She says with a small laugh. "I'm Suzette.'

"Very French." I nod wisely. "Diana."

"Diana Granger, I'm guessing?" She asks, and I nod. "You're lucky; I'm stuck with a double-barrelled surname. It's a dead giveaway for my terrible poshness. And unfortunately for every teacher here, I have to be referred to by both surnames. French wizarding custom."

I giggle alongside her. "I guess I'm way less interesting. Only one surname! I did get named after a Roman goddess though, so I guess that can be my annoying register tidbit?"

"A pleasure to meet you, Diana," she says, mock-formally. "We might as well know each other's names before we freeze to death."

"Feel like a couple of races? Might help warm us up a bit?" I ask.

"Maybe, but your inevitable defeat will chill you to the core." She grins wickedly and rolls her shoulders in preparation. "To there and back?" She points to a skeletal shrub, its leaves already drying up in the early autumn air.

"Excellent." I rub my hands together. "You're going down."

"Three, two, one...go!" She shouts, and I'm off, flinging my arms through the water in the fastest front crawl I can fathom. From my view, which is limited severely by water and flying limbs, Suzette and I are neck and neck. I grit my teeth and quicken my pace slightly, feeling my old competitiveness tug. I turn a little awkwardly, for lack of a wall to push off, when I reach our shrub and power through the lake towards our starting point. My muscles scream but I like the feeling of wild exertion, killing even the cold. It's dampened only when I finally reach our finishing point and realise that Suzette's beaten me by a hair's breadth.

"Aha!" Suzette crows, out of breath but triumphant. "I am victorious!"

"Just." I pant, recovering my breath. "Want a rematch?"

"Of course, I have nothing to fear."

"That's what you think!"

We stay and swim for a good half hour, our races dissolving into lazy lengths whenever we get talking. My hair's relenting on frizzing up for once, but I know the second we leave the water and it starts drying out, the usual poof is going to rear its head. I don't think Suzette will have the same problem, from the smoothness of her locks, which seem strangely familiar the more I look at them. There's something in that elegant smile and resuming olive complexion which jogs faded memories slightly, but I feel like asking lots of questions could come across as rude and intrusive. But I'm distracted from any shadowy sense of recognition by my limbs, which are starting to ache a little. Also, I have to admit the lure of my dry clothes and warm common room is becoming very appealing.

"I don't know about you!" I call over to Suzette. "But I'm starting to become a little less invincible to the cold!" The shivers have made a comeback with vengeance after the brief spell of race-induced warmth. It looks like they've hit Suzette as well - she's also quaking in the water's icy embrace. "You want to get out of here before we both get engulfed by blocks of ice?"

"That sounds good." Suzette laughs through slightly blue-tinged lips, and we both make our way to the bank. I plant my palms on the grass and heave myself out of the water; Suzette is a little less ungainly as she smoothly climbs out.

"I left my clothes here." I say, pointing to the nearby moss-draped rock I ditched my uniform and wand behind.

"Mine are along just a little bit." She gestures to another rock about twenty yards away. I can just make out a neatly folded pile (in contrast to my own crumpled heap) on top of it. "See you back here? We can go and get breakfast together, if you like?"

Warmth spreads in my chest in spite of the temperature - it looks like she enjoyed this as much as I did. "That'd be great! Oh - one thing before you go-" I lean down to my rock and fumble for my wand in the tangle of robes. "Want a steam-dry?"

"Do you know how?' She asks, looking quite impressed.

"Um. Sort of." I shrug. "Hermione taught me this Hot-Air Charm. Well, she tried." Suzette doesn't look very convinced. "I can have a go!" I smile bracingly, point my wand at myself and try to replicate the complex wave my sister showed me. For a moment there's nothing, then a juddering series of little puffs, engulfing me in a warm cloud. Sure, it's a little temperamental, and certainly not as smooth as Hermione's, but it'll do.

I do the same in Suzette's direction and she emerges looking a little drier and, mercifully, less blue-lipped. As I suspected, her long dark hair is smooth as ever, in contrast to my progressively livelier frizz.

" _Merci!_ " She laughs. "Your drying-out skills are definitely above average, I have to say."

"You should see my sister's." I say. "She could drain the lake!"

"Ah, but then how would I destroy you at swimming?" Suzette grins. "Right, back in a minute!"

She walks off to where her clothes await and I turn to mine. Holding my wand in my teeth, I dress again in my uniform and wrap my extremely welcome cloak around my shoulders. I can't stop the grin from spreading over my face at the thought of this new friendship. There was no awkwardness, no ice to break with Suzette; we clicked so easily it's as if we've known each other for years. I wonder now if she and I will be as close as I know Hermione is with her friends; it's not beyond possibility, is it?

I run my fingers through my damp hair pointlessly and come out from behind my rock. As I spot Suzette walking towards me, I lift my hand to wave, then stop. The greeting I was about to shout out freezes in my throat.

Her slender fingers are securing her tie around her neck - a tie in green, striped with silver. I can't believe in our hour of swimming, houses never once came up, but they didn't.

"You're in Slytherin?" I ask, nodding towards her tie. Her smile drops suddenly.

"Yes." She says, slightly coldly. "Is that not what you were expecting?"

I shrug awkwardly. For the first time since we met, there's a tense silence. Honestly, it wasn't what I was expecting. For the entirety of this past year, I've heard Hermione's tales of Slytherins - Draco Malfoy and his cronies, who picked on her friends mercilessly; the house's founder, Salazar, who regarded Muggle-borns like us as inferior. According to Ron, there are hardly any witches or wizards who turned to Dark Magic that weren't in Slytherin.

And I can hardly forget my own experience with Spencer Richardson. Just the thought of him leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

But Suzette hasn't been like that, has she? She's been friendly, fun; she certainly hasn't mentioned blood status. As much as hate Richardson, I don't want to think like Chance, either.

Maybe I shouldn't throw out a brand new friendship over a tie of the wrong colour.

"Well," I say into the silence, thinking I can defuse the tension with a joke. "Maybe I just didn't expect a Slytherin not to try and drown me, you know?" I look up, desperately hoping she catches my abject lack of seriousness.

"Well, maybe I just didn't expect a Hufflepuff not to drown anyway through sheer incompetence!" She says, and for a moment I worry she's serious and curse myself for not keeping my mouth shut. Then she laughs again and nudges my shoulder with the heel of her hand. "Enjoying the badger's den?"

With her comment the tension deflates and I laugh, huddling myself further into the thickness of my robes. "Oh, it's everything a simple young Hufflepuff would enjoy! Nice roaring fireplace, lack of unnecessary fighting, plenty of food, nothing too complicated to make any of us confused! It's perfect!"

Suzette laughs, and I feel a little warmer as the the last of the awkwardness dissipates back into the coolness of the lake. We turn towards the school, walking back side by side. She's a good few inches above me - tall for a girl of our age - and her hair rustles glossily in the wind, poker-straight and a lovely shade of dark brown, the olive tone returned to her formerly pale complexion.

"What about the snake's nest?" I can't help but tease back, and she grins at me.

"Oh, every bit as awfully prejudiced and intolerant as my house love to be! Lots of insults about non-Pure-bloods tattooed on the walls, and we have a 'bigot of the week' photo pinned up which varies from idiot to idiot - heads up, it's currently Spencer Richardson from our year - you've probably heard of him." _She has no idea,_ I think ruefully. "We even have lovely Grindelwald mask painting sessions!"

We both snicker then and share a smile. "Sorry, I must've come across as so rude!" I sigh, wanting to clear up any potential bad blood between us before it festers.

"No, no." She shakes her head. "I know my house doesn't have the sweetest of reputations. It does attract a lot of people with, uh, _questionable_ views..." She sighs. "Both of my brothers are in Slytherin, though, which is why I never objected to it. Were you at all sore being separated from your sister?"

I ponder for a second. "Uh...not really, I don't think. I mean, it would've been nice to be with her, but I'm happy where I am. It feels right to me. And, y'know, badgers are cute."

"You are _such_ a Hufflepuff." Suzette rolls her almond eyes. "What about your sister? Was she disappointed?"

"A little, I think." I say, thinking back to Hermione's face at my Sorting. "I think she assumed I'd be with her. She was planning to show me around the Gryffindor common room on our way to King's Cross. But she's fine with it really, wants me to be happy most. What about your brothers? Are they happy you've joined them?"

Suzette shrugs in an unfairly elegant manner. "Mostly, yes!" She exclaims. "It's always nice to have Gwaine's company, even if he is the total golden boy of Slytherin! Head boy, star student - the only field he hasn't completely dominated is Quidditch - and that's because," she coughs as if to show her disinterest. "It's not something we've ever had any interest in. We have our own wizarding sports in France which I find _much_ more interesting."

I suddenly know where I recognise her from - the boy Hermione and I met in Diagon Alley - as I remember, he even mentioned having a sister in my year. I can't believe I didn't realise the obvious resemblance earlier. "And your other brother?" I ask, tilting my head slightly as we ascend the hill. "What's it like being with him?"

"Oh!" Suzette rolls her grey-green eyes. "Lance is...vexing - and that's putting it politely. You'll never meet anyone more overly and _openly_ enthusiastic about his own looks than my brother." She lets out a dramatic sigh. "Apparently, half of the school sees him as the most beautiful and captivating young man of the decade. I mean, he is good-looking, but he's also vain and finicky and _totally_ terrified of a committed relationship. Still, if they all want to throw themselves at his feet and let him to trample all over their hearts, there isn't much anyone else can do about it, I suppose."

She shoots be a pointedly curious look at me. "Your older sister hasn't ever mentioned a boy called Lance Marchelle LaBrie to you, has she?"

I frown. "I think I saw him on the train? He was surrounded by a group of girls and it was really annoying this prat from Gryffindor, which was fine was me.'' I think back to our trip on the Hogwarts Express and Chance's constant complaining. "But Hermione's never mentioned him, no."

"Good! Sounds like she's got some sense."

"Oh, she's got heaps of that," I say.

"So you wouldn't find her jumping into a Scottish lake in autumn, then?" Suzette grins at me sideways.

"I think we've already established that that's for absolute nutters." I laugh. We've scaled the hill fully, and the castle looms in front of us. It's waking up, slowly, now the early-morning mist has dissipated and the peach-streaked sky has succumbed to its usual blue.

"Then I think we're tied for top spot." Suzette smiles, as we watch the sun climb higher in the sky and spill its warmth over our heads.


	8. A Promise

Walking into the Great Hall with Suzette on Saturday was intense. Our grand plan of getting breakfast together was quickly squashed by the obstacle that somehow neither of us had foreseen - the House tables. There was absolutely no chance I could get anywhere near hers - especially with both Richardson and a ferret-faced blond boy that could only be Malfoy sitting there - and from the wary looks shot towards her green-striped tie, it didn't look like she'd be too welcome at mine, either.

I spotted my dorm-mates sitting at our usual place at the end of the table and threw them all a smile and a wave, trying very hard to ignore the fact that several pairs of eyes were on me. I gathered from Ruby's raised eyebrows and Additri's crumpled brow and the polite but hesitant way that Blossom waved back that this was not a good time to start introductions.

I felt slightly crestfallen until Suzette grabbed a stack of toast and a pair of plums and dragged me back outside. We sat with the dew seeping through our robes and ate back by the lake, which we still had - more or less - to ourselves. I enjoyed our makeshift picnic - dry toast, damp grass and all - so much that the hour flew by in what felt like fifteen minutes. I finally surrendered to the dragging knowledge that my pile of homework still sat untouched with some reluctance.

But I didn't go straight to the library - instead, I headed for the Hufflepuff common room, where I found my dorm-mates sitting around one of the little round tables, engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap. They all acknowledged me with friendly smiles but there was a definite awkwardness that I hadn't ever felt before with any of them.

"About breakfast…" I'd begun, trying to choose my words carefully. "And my ...friend. You all looked kind of - shocked?"

"Well… maybe a little." Blossom said slowly, putting down her cards.

"I just - thought that Slytherins tended to be, y'know - not so nice." Additri said anxiously, her eyebrows sloping upwards.

"I know. Some of them aren't; a lot of them aren't. But she - Suzette - she's really nice. Honest." I did my best at a reassuring smile.

"And you're sure she's not - you know - one of Richardson's lot?" Juliette asked, similarly worriedly.

I nodded firmly. "A hundred percent. She thinks he's a total idiot, as well."

Blossom smiled at me. "Well, that's alright then." She said simply.

"Yeah, you've got a good head on your shoulders." Ruby chipped in, then cocked an eyebrow suddenly. "But if she turns out to be one of his fanclub, she's answering to me. Nothing scarier than an angry Scot."

She winked and the tension dissolved into giggles, but I had to begrudgingly leave for the library straight afterwards and tackle my homework. Unsurprisingly, I didn't get that far with my meagre History of Magic notes - or my even flimsier knowledge of the Boil-Cure Potion and whatever literal sorcery Patti Freemand used to save it from collapse.

Luckily, Hermione confirmed all my previous teasing by turning up at the library with the sort of expression I'd get if reunited with an old friend. I'd beckoned her over slightly desperately, and she spent the afternoon helping me with my work, the way she used to when I struggled with Muggle homework in primary school. The fact that she put my essay difficulties before delving back into Hogwarts' bookshelves - her equivalent of my jumping into the Great Lake - made me vow to try harder not to drift off in Binns' lessons or toss Potions ingredients into a cauldron without triple-checking first.

Once I'd produced two essays and taken duplicates of Hermione's History notes (at her insistence), we left the library. She told me about how she'd tangled with Draco Malfoy that morning and that Ron's failed attempt at retaliation had left him throwing up slugs. From her teacherly tone I'm pretty sure that she saw this as another way to warn me against attempting to respond to bullies with magic, so I told her I'd make sure to ignore Richardson and anyone else who might have a problem with my blood status in future.

The rest of the weekend passed in a pleasant blur of once again swimming with Suzette and picnicking by the lake, followed by holing up in the Hufflepuff common room, teasing Blossom about Richard Finch-Fletchley and watching Juliette lovingly sketch Lockhart battling a werewolf that looked, in Ruby's words "much more like a squid with ears."

I think I'm going to like Hogwarts.

* * *

First up on Monday, we have Charms - with the Slytherins. I'm both excited and apprehensive; on the plus side, I'll have a lesson with Suzette, but it'll also be the first time that I'm forced into close quarters with Richardson and his lot since the night we arrived. Still, I don't think there's anything much he can do with a teacher around; as I make my way into the Charms classroom on the third floor with my dorm-mates I resolve not to acknowledge his existence at all. Once we're inside, I scan the students already in the room for Suzette and spot her with a group of Slytherin girls; she waves enthusiastically, but before I can call out, our teacher clears his throat and the chatter dies down.

"Good morning, students, and welcome to Charms!" Squeaks the tiny wizard that can only be Professor Flitwick. "Today, we will be attempting _Lumos,_ the Wand-Lighting Charm. Into pairs, please!"

Everyone starts shuffling about; Blossom and Additri snag a desk at the front. Immediately, my eyes fly to Suzette and find hers already on me, brows raised. Within seconds we've paired up and settled at a desk near the back.

"Fancy seeing you here," she grins at me as she takes out her quill.

"Odd to see you out of a sub-zero lake," I laugh.

From the corner of my eye I can see that Richardson and his lot have sat behind us, but I refuse to turn around and acknowledge him at all.

Professor Flitwick climbs onto a stack of books on his desk chair and clears his throat. "Now, the Wand-Lighting Charm is relatively simple-"

He's cut off by the loud bang of the door being thrown open. In a scene eerily reminiscent of last week's Potions lesson, Greg bursts into the classroom, out of breath and red in the face - even his tie is similarly skewed.

"S-sorry I'm late, Professor!" He pants. "I - I got lost…"

Professor Flitwick waves a hand. "Not to worry, Mr Onyssen, not to worry. You'll find your way around in due course! We're just in pairs..."

At those words, Greg's face brightens; his eyes speedily rake the class but when they come to rest on me - clearly already paired (with a girl in a green tie, no less) the smile slips very suddenly. He loiters, looking crestfallen.

"Come on now, Mr Onyssen, pick somewhere to sit," Professor Flitwick says. I spot Richard Finch-Fletchley beckoning Greg over with his usual friendly smile but Greg joins him slightly reluctantly, gazing at me like an abandoned puppy from across the classroom.

A wave of guilt dampens my excitement. Maybe I should have waited for Greg before pairing up with Suzette, maybe I should have hung about in the common room and asked him to walk here with me and my room-mates… I know he's painfully shy. Still, this will be good for him, right? He can't rely on me solely - he needs to try to talk to other people, branch out.

Inwardly, though, I know that I'm making excuses - the reality is that I just wanted to sit with my new friend and completely forgot about saving a seat for Greg. I squirm slightly and make a mental note to try and include him in any conversation in the common room later to try and make up for it.

"Now, where was I? Ah!" Professor Flitwick regains begins, snapping my attention back to the front of the classroom. "The Wand-Lighting Charm is relatively simple, but it will require careful concentration. If produced correctly, it should appear lemon-yellow, but if over-charged it, it will appear a vibrant scarlet. Unless you'd like horribly dazzled eyes, this is _not_ ideal, so please try to keep close control over your charms and tell your partner if theirs is slipping into the red! So, let's have a go..."

The room dissolves into muttering of incantations and loud expressions of frustration and triumph. I remember my promise to apply myself in lessons and try to blot out all the background noise.

"Right," I say, focusing hard on my wand. " _Lumos!"_

For a second I wait with baited breath, then a little glow appears at the tip of my wand. A thrill of delight rushes down my spine...the fact I'm capable of magic still amazes me. I think it always will.

I'm distracted from my wand when Suzette nudges me softly. "Noticed Richardson?" She asks under her breath, glancing furtively to the tables behind us.

"No," I mutter, resisting the urge to look around. "I'm trying really hard to pretend he doesn't exist."

"Well, I don't think he's happy to see us together. He's boring his eyes into the back of your head."

"What's his Charm like?" I ask, caving to my curiousity.

Suzette pauses. "Damn, it looks perfect." She says, in a tone of great annoyance.

I grit my teeth. "Of _course."_ Typical that Richardson can produce a perfect Charm without even looking, preoccupied with glaring at me.

"Uh, Diana…" Suzette says warningly, and my attention snaps back to my wand's light, which is now teetering towards a dangerously bright red.

"Argh!" I yelp. "Uh...what's the counter-spell?! Oh yeah - _Knox."_

The light dies out. "Oops."

"My fault." Suzette says sheepishly. "I distracted you with the Richardson Report."

"Ah well." I shrug. "That wasn't too bad for a first attempt! Until the red light, anyway."

"Just a pity you didn't shine it in his eyes." Suzette grins wickedly. "That'd have made a _really_ great first attempt."

By the end of the lesson, we've both managed to produce a handful of decent Wand-Lighting Charms, though Suzette's are little temperamental when starting up and mine tend to flicker. Still, I'm relatively pleased with the results, and more than a little relieved that I didn't get anything worse from Richardson than glares.

"Excellent start, everyone!" Professor Flitwick beams around the class as the bell starts to ring. "I must dash - staff meeting for all the Heads of Houses - remember to practise those Wand-Lighting Charms for Monday, please!" He scurries out the door and into the corridor, which is heaving with students.

Our classmates trickle out in his wake, and I'm about to move when my bag suddenly topples over, spilling books, quills and parchment everywhere.

"Uhh," I mutter, dropping to my knees and gathering my things. "How did that happen? It was right in the middle of my desk."

"I think Mr Richardson might've had something to do with it," Suzette says darkly, handing me bottle of ink that flew under her desk. Given the slight snickering I hear as the gang moves past us towards the door, she's probably right, but I'm not going to start a fight over something so small and trivial. I pile everything back in my bag, straighten and go to leave the now-empty classroom.

Because we're the last ones out, I assume the corridor will be equally empty. I'm wrong.

Richardson is leaning against the doorframe. Beside him is one of his cronies - a tall, pale boy with auburn hair and emerald eyes whose name I do not know. Between them, they're completely blocking our path out. He planned this, clearly, knocking over my bag to get us alone in the room, and I've walked right into his trap. I was stupid to think he'd stop at such meagre payback.

I'm not going to embarrass myself by trying and failing to slip between them. Instead, I steady myself, fold my arms across my chest and plant my absolute best attempt at an indifferent expression on my face.

"Alright, Suzette?" Asks the auburn-haired one, fixating solely at my friend and looking straight through me as if I'm invisible.

"You know, I'm so-so, Marks." Suzette shrugs lightly, returning the intensity of his gaze with interest and tilting her head slightly. "I'd be great if it weren't for the guy standing right in my path." She flashes her silver smile. "Places to go, people to see, all that."

The corner of his mouth jerks, a distant relative of a smirk. "Of course," he says, almost graciously. He shifts slightly. Suzette inclines her head, and I'm hit by a sudden wave of fear and insecurity.

_She'll slip through the gap and leave you here on your own with them. She will._

Suddenly there's a hand on the small of my back, urging me forward. "After you, Diana." Suzette says. Her tone is light, but pointed. There is steel behind her grey-green eyes, and I know immediately what she's trying to do. She's not going to ditch me. I was wrong not to trust her.

Unfortunately, Marks isn't so willing to let _me_ past. The second I step forward, he's back in his original position, eyebrows raised. His eyes slide right back to my friend.

"What are you doing with _her,_ Suzette?" He asks in a sort of stage whisper, his tone polite enough to confirm that he still deems her, at least, worthy of trying to impress.

"Well, at the moment, we're trying to get past you." Suzette says.

Richardson rolls his eyes, as if bored of watching this exchange from the sidelines and ready to take his rightful place at the centre of the fray.

"What exactly are you playing at, Granger?" He asks me slowly.

"Uh...trying to leave Charms?" I say, doing my best to replicate Suzette's nonchalant tone.

"Bit slow on the uptake today, you two." Suzette says, as sweetly as ever.

Richardson lets out a short, sharp laugh. "Funny. Very funny." The smile dies as suddenly as it appeared, and the voice his speaks to me in is laced with venom. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Granger."

"I really don't." I lie baldly. "Maybe you should find something better to do than follow me about?"

He laughs again, but this time it's harsher, with a slightly twisted edge. "Says the Mudblood trailing a Slytherin." He spits.

"No one's trailing me." Suzette says sharply, dropping her coy tone. "And if you say that word again I'm jinxing you."

He gives her an appraising sort of look. "Oh, give it up, LaBrie." He says. "You could do so much better than _this_."

"It's funny that you're acting like _I'm_ pathetic." I cut in, getting steadily angrier. "When _you_ went whining to the teachers just because I used White Sparks."

He frowns, but recovers his poise almost instantaneously. "What _are_ you talking about? Think you must be seeing things, Granger. Stress of being apart from the Muggle world too much for you?"

"Nice try, Richardson. I know it was you." I snap, then eye Marks with contempt. "It was one of you, anyway."

"I'm not the reporting kind." Richardson says softly, stepping forward very slightly. Instinctively, I move back, a little intimidated, then shake myself for not holding my ground.

"Apparently you are." I say, but there's a slight tremor in my voice.

"I'm bored." Suzette announces. "I'm dreadfully bored, I'm especially dreadfully bored of this conversation, and I'd _really_ like to leave this classroom now." Her hand slips towards the pocket of her robes where her wand sits.

Marks looks at her, then to his ringleader, probably weighing up his losses. After a few seconds, he grudgingly steps aside. He's still resolutely refusing to acknowledge my existence, but Richardson's amber eyes are locked on me.

"Go on then." His shark-like smile is back. "Go and skip off together, tell each other all your deepest darkest secrets - go and see how long it lasts."

"Thanks, we will." Suzette says, but Richardson is once again looking at me.

"This isn't the last of this, Granger." He says. "Just you wait."

"Get a _life,_ Richardson." Suzette laughs dismissively, then takes me by the arm and tugs me down the corridor with surprising force for someone so slim.

" _Honestly,"_ she vents. "Who does he think he is? Trying to scare you with all that 'just you wait' rubbish? Look," she says, a seriousness returning to her voice now as she turns at me. "He won't do anything. He's too much of a coward. All show, no action. He says things like that all the time!"

I smile and nod, echo her words in a tone of bravado, but I cannot shake a feeling of uneasiness. No matter what Suzette says, I don't think this is over. Somehow, I don't think Richardson is the type to make empty threats.


	9. The Book Thief

"And then I figured out how to steer - once you've got that it's pretty simple, really..."

"Not if you've got one of those ancient Cleansweep Sevens that keeps dragging off you to the right, it isn't!"

We're all holed up in the common room on Wednesday afternoon. A grey drizzle is sliding down the windows and dulling the sky to the colour of slate, so it's even more crowded than usual, but I don't mind. The noise is a great excuse to avoid the ferocious Potions essay we were just given.

Snape was as nasty as ever, but everyone's more consumed by our first flying lesson this morning - comparing notes on how difficult they found it and conspiring about who might be able to make the Quidditch team next year.

Unlike all the other first-years, Greg's nowhere to be seen. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's something to do with the fact that his broom had only ascended three feet from the ground before he yelped with surprise, toppled off head-first and landed in a heap on the slightly damp grass. I've asked around, but no one knows where he's got to, I've got to admit he probably doesn't want to sit here and listen to everyone rave about flying.

I wish I could be quite as enthused by the topic as the rest of the gang, but I'm distracted by the dragging knowledge that it's been two days since Richardson's threat and so far, nothing's happened. Clearly, he meant it quite literally when he said " _just you wait_." It makes me uneasy, makes me think that something worse than just another argument is coming.

"How did you find it, Diana?" Blossom asks, jolting me out of my less-than-pleasant thoughts.

"The height was really cool." I nod, remembering the exhilaration of the cold air slicing past my face. I had itched to go higher. "But I found the broom itself kind of uncomfortable. Wouldn't trust myself not to fall off sixty feet in the air!"

"Yeah." Additri agrees with a laugh from where she's perched on an armchair, having budged up to make room for Ruby. Our Scottish friend has leant her head against the arm and looks as if she's about to fall asleep. "My biggest worry was falling off, so I guess I got conquered one obstacle in actually staying on my broom!"

We all laugh then, even me, despite the fact I've still got niggling Richardson worries on the brain. I'm hoping he isn't coming down hard on Suzette for defending me and _daring_ to go against his orders of 'disrespect all Muggle-borns'. Looking back on our last encounter, his right-hand man, Marks, seemed pretty keen on her - unsurprisingly - so maybe that's what's making him hold off on the payback so far. That and I really doubt Suzette'd let someone walk all over her. She knows more about the wizarding world, so maybe she knows more about the Richardson family themselves?

 _The Richardson family._ They sound like a bunch of opticians by Muggle expectations. Maybe I should mention that the next time the aforementioned Spencer comes looking for a fight.

"Well, Ruby doesn't have to worry!" Juliette's piping up as I come round from my internal Richardson mockery. "You took to that thing like you were a bird!" She announces, playfully smacking the snoozing Scot on the arm, bringing her out of half-consciousness and blinking sluggishly at us.

"Hm? Oh yeah, sure." She nods before yawning once more, absentmindedly pushing back her mane of golden hair as she scans the common room. "Might try out for the team next year, y'know? Show everyone I'm better at something that isn't just being typically moody Scot!"

"Aw, but sis, you're so good at it!" A new voice enters our conversation, both Additri and Blossom looking slightly amazed as a broad shouldered young man turns around from a knot of older students in the armchairs in front of us and enters our field of vision.

The thick thatch of saffron hair's the second biggest giveaway, next to the boy referring to Ruby as 'sis'. He's got the same pale complexion, snubbed nose and thick Scottish accent, albeit his eyes are dark blue instead of mossy green and his jawline's stronger than his sister's. He's attractive in that wild, 'raised amongst the long grass of the Highlands way', and judging by how he carries himself that's not inaccurate speculation.

"Shut it, Rod." Ruby narrows her eyes at him, but her tone's playful. "I'm trying to sleep here."

"You don't get enough of that at home?!" He says, mock-incredulously. Then he turns to the rest of us, eyebrows raised, grinning. "Always in her bed till three, this one. Couldn't drag her out if the house caught fire!"

"Well, that's because I'm hanging around you," Ruby retorts. "Your Quidditch lectures would put anyone to sleep!"

At that, there's an appreciative chuckle from an older girl with marshmallow-coloured curls, who also turns around on her armchair to talk to us over her shoulder. "She's right there, Rod," she teases. "You're worse than Binns, sometimes!"

"Too harsh, Minnie," says Ruby's brother, pretending to be wounded.

Ruby straightens up with some difficulty. "Guys, if you hadn't guessed, this is my brother, Roderick." She tells us. "He thinks he's funny."

He smiles and raises a hand in our general direction before turning back to his sister. "I _am_ funny, sis."

"Just not at 6am in midwinter when you're talking about shortcutting Bludgers," pipes up the pink-haired girl, rolling her eyes fondly. She looks to our knot of first-years. "Hi, I'm Miranda. Minnie for short. I'm the Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. You lot had your first flying lesson today, right?"

"Yep," Blossom nods, then blushes pink. "I was hopeless, though."

"No, you weren't." Says Richard courteously, shaking his head. "I thought you were very good."

He's rewarded with a delighted smile, accompanied by the pink flush peppering Blossom's cheeks, fingers twirling the ends of her peachy hair as she giggles. I know Ruby's rolling her eyes so hard I'm almost amazed they aren't making a rattling noise.

"Ah, interrogating on the first years about their flying lessons already, are we, Mallenry?" A new voice announces as a figure walks over to where we're all perched on the chairs.

It's a small, dark haired girl with a natural tan and wide-hipped figure. At first I mistake her hair for black, but when the dim common room lighting hits her roots, dark brown shimmers and it suits the glossy, foofed-up curls that billow around her face, resting neatly on her shoulders in a chocolate cloud. She's got almond eyes that look almost lilac tinged and long lashes batting against her cheeks. I can't blame the sudden interest that flickers in Rod Mallenry's eyes the second she comes to stand beside him. What with her prominent chest and all.

"Hey, how am I a good squad member if I'm not already trying to figure out what we're going to do if you leave us, Dani?" Rod replies, but the fondness in his tone is impossible to not pick up on.

"Daniela Bregalia," the girl introduces herself with a small wave. "I'd add Hufflepuff Quidditch Team member, but it looks like Roderick's already pipped me to that post." She shoots him a smile before looking across us. "Any of you thinking of trying out?"

Luckily, before I can unhelpfully tell her that I don't think I'd be much use, Ruby speaks up. "Well...I was thinking, y'know, maybe offering?" She sounds uncharacteristically eager to please - not to mention a whole lot more awake - as she shoots Daniela a hopeful smile and passes a hand through her hair, something strangely similar to what her brother's doing right now.

"See, Rod? Can you really complain?" Daniela jokes as she lightly smacks his shoulder. "I'm getting your own little sister on board for you, really you should be thanking me for thinking of throwing in the towel!"

"Wait, you're thinking of leaving the team?" Minnie turns to Daniela and frowns suddenly. "You haven't mentioned this to me!"

"Not until next year, have no fear." Daniela tells her. "I'm totally committed to getting us that Cup this year! But afterwards, I might focus a bit more on my creature rights project - maybe get some more people involved..."

"Looks like there's going to be a couple of vacancies on the team next year, then. You might actually stand a chance, sis." Rod teases Ruby.

"More chance than you had during _your_ first year," she shoots back, grinning. "What was it you did when you were practising in the Christmas holidays? Oh yeah...got stranded in a tree..."

"You jinxed that broom!" He protests.

"We've been over this..." Ruby shakes her head in mock-despair. "I did _not_ jinx the broom."

"Oh, yeah? What's your genius excuse for that?"

"I was _eight_ , Rod!"

Everyone laughs at the banter between siblings. I feel a slight twinge in the pit of my stomach at the thought of my own sister in a different common room, probably joking around with a completely different group of people. I shake away the thought. I know I'm being stupid. For one thing, she's probably got her nose stuck in a book right now, and for another, it's not like I never see her. We have another study session planned in two days, and that's if I don't bump into her beforehand.

The thought of the meeting drives a new concern into my head - should I tell her about my most recent confrontation with Richardson? I haven't mentioned it to any of my Hufflepuff friends yet...mostly because I don't want to make them any more suspicious of Slytherins or inclined to think that my friendship with Suzette is causing any trouble.

Even if they would, technically speaking, be right in thinking so.

* * *

On Friday morning we have Herbology. After struggling through our first Transfiguration and Astronomy lessons this week, I've been quite pleased to be back in the familiar greenhouse, doing something that doesn't involve formulae or star charts. I managed to refine my repotting technique during yesterday's lesson, so I'm relatively relaxed as I sit down at our table with Greg, Atticus and Chance and pull my Bouncing Bulb towards me.

Of course, this changes pretty quickly once Chance clears his throat loudly and fixes me with his signature bold stare. "I have a bone to pick with you." He announces.

 _Great._ I put down my trowel and try to keep my voice level. "Yeah?"

"Well, I've seen you hanging around that - _Slytherin -_ girl, down by the lake." He grimaces.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "So?"

He sighs heavily. " _So_ , do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Well, yeah, otherwise I wouldn't be doing it." I say, slightly snappier than I'd meant to.

"That's it, though. I don't think you _should_ be doing it." Chance says.

 _Did I ask your opinion?!_ I think furiously. I look to Atticus for some support, but he looks faintly worried himself, fiddling with his trowel absent-mindedly and chewing on his lip. He won't quite meet my eyes.

"Come on," I say disbelievingly. "You're not seriously saying I shouldn't be friends with someone just because they're in Slytherin?!"

Chance puffs out his chest importantly. "Do you know what Salazar Slytherin stood for?!" He booms suddenly, making Greg jump so much knocks over his pot and scatters earth across the table.

"You can be friends with whoever you want, Diana, of course you can." Atticus says quickly, in a placating tone. "It's just… You-Know-Who's supporters were all Slytherins... and it looks like the attitude's stuck. I mean, Richardson and Malfoy's gangs are already going around calling people, well, _you-know-whats_ … you've seen it first-hand."

" _And_ they always foul us in Quidditch." Chance pouts, as if that settles the matter.

"Well, that too, I guess." Atticus shrugs. His friend nods self-importantly, like he's convinced he's argued his case with stunning skill.

"Look, I get the concern." I tell Atticus, ignoring Chance completely and trying to drag my tone back towards patience. "But she's not like Richardson or Malfoy, not at all. She's definitely not some, I don't know, budding You-Know-Who supporter! I mean, it's just a house. It can't matter _that_ much."

Atticus shrugs again, still biting his lip. I can tell that he isn't convinced.

"Well, it doesn't matter that much to me, anyway." I say. "I can hang out with her if I want to."

"Richardson won't like it." Chance declares brashly. "He won't like it if you hang around with someone from his house... Even if she isn't one of his fanclub." He adds, grudgingly. "It's like putting a target on your back. _On purpose."_

I think back to Monday's Charms lesson, to Richardson's threat. I know that, for once in his life, Chance is right. But I'm not about to admit it.

"Well, he's just going to have to put up with it." I say, in my firmest possible voice. I pick up my trowel and turn back to my plant pots, a clear signal that this conversation is over. "And so are you."

* * *

"...and so you finish with a fifth unknown variable, and there you have the transformation formula, which is used for- Diana? Are you listening to me?"

"Huh?" I start. "Oh. Yeah. The, er, transformation formula...yeah…"

Hermione gives me a sceptical look. "Can you tell me _any_ of the variables I just mentioned?"

"Umm…"

My sister closes her textbook. "What's wrong?"

I shrug. "Nothing. Anyway, let's get back to Transfiguration…"

"Honestly, Diana, you're a terrible liar." She fixes me with a knowing look.

I sigh, fiddling with my quill. "Alright. Well. You know my- umm- OK, have you seen me with a Slytherin girl this week?"

She purses her lips slightly. "Yes, I have. I was going to ask you about it, actually-"

"Well, her name's Suzette and she's really nice." I cut in quickly. "Nothing like Malfoy or any of that lot. Really."

Hermione examines my earnest expression. "Is this what you've been anxious about? Getting my approval?"

"Not exactly, no…"

"Go on, then."

"Well, people don't seem to be too happy. I mean, my dorm-mates seem to be more or less OK with it now, but they still haven't really met her... And I had Herbology today and my friend in Gryffindor - Atticus, you remember, from the platform? - well, he was saying that all of You-Know-Who's supporters had been Slytherin."

Hermione frowns. "Well. I'm not sure there's any way to know about _all_ of them, you know. But from what I know, the vast majority were, yes. But you're not worried about your friend-"

"Oh no, I'm not worried about Suzette." I say hurriedly. "Not a chance. But I am kind of worried about someone else. Richardson - you know, the one that I had the - um - _incident_ with, on my first night? I think he might actually think like that. He's obsessed with blood status. And he isn't too happy to have some Muggle-born Hufflepuff hanging around a Slytherin...He's had a few things to say about it..."

I pause. If I mention his threat, my sister will probably frog-march me to Professor Sprout and make me confess everything. Either that or she'll tell a teacher herself.

"So...yeah." I finish lamely. "Anyway, I don't know what to do about it."

Hermione's quiet for a minute, frowning as if sorting out a complex puzzle.

"I would be careful around Slytherin." She says finally. "I mean, you don't need me to tell you that it doesn't have a good reputation! But," she says, her voice softening a little. "You're clever, Diana. Well, perhaps not at memorising the Transformation Formula-" she gives me a mock-stern look - "but you're a good judge of character."

I give her a half-smile. "You think?"

"Yes. I think you can trust your instincts. And as for this Richardson, just ignore him. Oh, and _do not_ use magic outside lessons." She adds pointedly, but I'm only half listening.

"He thinks I don't belong here." I hear myself say. Somehow it's this - not the slurs or the taunting - that bothers me the most.

Hermione pauses, thinking. "Well, the best way to prove him wrong is to ace your exams."

"Yeah... don't think that's going to happen." I say, thinking of my struggles in almost every subject I've had so far.

My sister looks suddenly fierce. "Oh, yes it will. If I managed to get 112 percent in last year's Charms exam, I can help you sail through yours." She flips open the textbook again determinedly, picks up her quill. "Now, where were we?"

* * *

For the first time since I arrived at Hogwarts, I struggle to sleep. The wind is howling outside, eerily muffled by the thick stone walls, but I know what's really keeping me awake. I keep replaying Chance's words " _Richardson won't like it"_ over and over in my head, and no matter how many times I tell myself that I don't care, I can't help the anxiety creeping into my stomach.

I toss and turn for five more minutes, then sit up abruptly, giving up on sleep. I need to stop stewing over this, distract myself somehow. I'm still only halfway through _Fire and Fang_ ; it seems like the perfect antidote to my fretting. I clamber out of bed as quietly as possible, grab my wand from my bedside table and make my way into the deserted common room. I left my book inside my satchel, leaning against the armchair that Additri and I had crammed onto together to play Exploding Snap earlier this afternoon.

I whisper " _Lumos!"_ \- good practise for my Charms homework, I guess - and find my way to the fire by my slightly flickering wand-light. I light the fire, spilling a warm orange glow over the room, extinguish my charm and scan for my bag. I quickly spot it where I left it, but as I move closer I stop and frown. My book is lying on top of it. It's funny; I could have sworn that I'd put it inside - but then again, I guess I don't share Hermione's excellent memory, and I have had a lot of my mind. Shrugging, I pick up the book and settle into the comfiest, most battered armchair by the fire.

I open where I left off - halfway through a description of a Chinese Fireball - and within a paragraph I'm hooked. The generous warmth of the flames and periodic turning of pages relax me almost instantly.

After fifteen minutes, my eyelids are becoming heavy, my thoughts pleasantly dulled. I mark my page, carefully place the book back in my bag, and retreat back to the dormitory with my head full of dragons.

* * *

I wake much later on Saturday morning and find the dorm abandoned, apart from Ruby, who's still slumped on her four-poster, snoring softly. Suzette told me that she'd promised to help her friend with some Transfiguration homework, so we're going to swim in the lake later this afternoon instead. I pull my robes on lazily and make my way into the common room, vaguely wondering if the others have gone to breakfast yet. I find Blossom, Juliette and Additri sitting around one of the little round tables, star charts and parchment splayed over its surface.

"Hey, Diana!" Juliette waves as I approach, still slightly bleary-eyed.

"Morning," I smile sleepily. "What're you doing?"

"Astronomy homework." Blossom says keenly, nodding to the star charts. "Want to get yours too?"

"I'm still kind of half-asleep… don't think I can process anything complicated right now." I stretch sheepishly. "I might just read for a bit, you know, until I can get move both eyelids at the same time."

They giggle, and I go over to my bag. I can't wait to get back to the Swedish Short-Snout, a Scandinavian dragon with brilliant blue flames and silvery scales...

When I reach my bag, I stop short, my tiredness evaporating. It's already open. I root through it, but I already know that what I'll find.

The book is gone.

This time, there's no possible way to blame it on a fuzzy memory. I distinctly remember putting it back last night - I was careful to place it right inside and buckle the bag. Someone's taken it, and I know who.

I straighten up sharply, yank my bag over my shoulder and storm towards the door.

"Diana?" Blossom looks up from her work, worried at my obvious distress. "What's wrong?!"

"My book's gone." I say without stopping.

I think she's still talking, but I'm already off, striding out the common room at a speed I didn't know I was capable of, powered by anger. I know it's Richardson. He flat out told me I had something coming during our last encounter. He's punishing me for daring to hang out with a Slytherin - to mar a perfect pure-blood princess with my lesser Muggle-born presence. Stealing my most prized possession is his payback. It cuts me to the core.

There's a chance he'll be in the Slytherin common room, but instinct tells me that he'll be at his other favourite haunt: down by the lake with the rest of his brain-dead fan-club. They tend to turn up late in the morning at the weekend, which Suzette and I always take as our cue to pack up and leave.

I'm proven right as soon as I emerge from the castle; I can already see the gang gathered by the lakeside, lounging against the trees. At least four or five of them.

Anger makes me brave - or maybe just stupid. Either way, I march up to them without any consideration for the fact that I'm clearly outnumbered.

"Give it back." I demand.

The second he turns around, I know Richardson's not been anticipating a meeting between us today. He almost looks surprised, but if he is - even for a second - he hides it well.

"Give _what_ back, exactly, Granger?" He asks, raising his eyebrows and trying to look intimidating, a delighted smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. Under other circumstances I might be a little afraid, but I'm too furious to even consider whatever threats he's silently trying to communicate. "Brain-cells? Dignity? A scrap of magical talent? A ticket back to your precious Muggle home?" Some of his gang - Rooshlin, specifically - titter at that, but I'm too incensed to care.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, Richardson," I snap, fists balling down by my sides as I come to a halt in front of him. The wind's wild; my hair is escaping from my headband and flying around my head; his own dark worms aren't faring much better. "So don't play even stupider than you already are!"

The tedious laughter stops. Richardson's eyes widen in shock and any traces of a smile vanish from his face. It's as if he can't quite comprehend what he's just been told. That someone would dare insult his demigod state of being. No less, some sad little Muggle-born he thinks he's nicely put in her place.

"What did you just say?" His tone's ice cold now. Cold, harsh fire is burning in the amber of his eyes. I've truly managed to insult him; any other time I'd be proud, but my book's what's important here. Not bruising Spencer Richardson and his sky high sense of self-importance.

"You heard me." I press on. "Or, like I said, are you so _thick_ I'm going to have to keep repeating myself?"

I've well and truly gone and done it now. Even Richardson's cronies look unsettled. All the colour's drained from his face, rendering him bone white, and he's trying to contain his anger physically, something that just leaves him shuddering slightly. He could just go and punch me, but I'm not sure if some skinny rich kid would have the strength to land a decent one. No, instead his hands seem to be itching to fly to his wand so he can start cursing me. Maybe he'll even go all the way and put me in St. Mungo's for daring to speak so poorly of his self-made honour.

But before I can get myself put in a coma, a voice rings out.

"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

At the sound of a voice I don't immediately recognise I almost jump, but it's Richardson and his friends who look considerably more nervous as I gather my wits and turn around to face the newcomer to our confrontation.

I immediately recognise the person who's spoken. Miranda Mercury's signature pastel pink hair is swirling around her face as she approaches us. Her dark grey eyes are studying all of us carefully, but they come to settle on Richardson himself.

"Something wrong?" She asks, her tone determinedly light.

Richardson looks to her and clenches his jaw. "Nothing at all." He says grudgingly, as if speaking in anything other than venomous insults is a real challenge. " _Granger_ here was just making an accusation. An unfounded accusation."

Minnie looks to me, her face softening. "What's wrong, Diana?"

I chew my lip. I promised myself I wouldn't go to the teachers about the Richardson situation. But Minnie isn't a teacher, ish she? Besides, I don't have any other options if I ever want to see my book again.

"Richardson's taken my book." I tell her. "It was in my bag in the common room last night and now it's gone. Days after he told me that 'I had something coming.'" I glare at him pointedly.

The ghost of Richardson's former smirk returns. "Oh, so _that's_ what I'm supposed to have taken?"

"Just one thing," Marks cuts in smoothly. "How exactly is he supposed to have got into the _Hufflepuff_ common room without anyone noticing?"

"Not like it'd be too difficult, though, Marks!" Rooshlin snorts suddenly. "Not the brightest, are they, those Hufflepuffs? Heh!"

It could be a trick of the light, but I think I see Richardson's eyes flicker towards Rooshlin in a split-second glare. In any case, Rooshlin's stupid grin falls quickly.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Mercury, I'm not a Hufflepuff." He says calmly. "How could I have got in?"

"Like you couldn't have figured it out," I fire back. It's hardly difficult to get into the Hufflepuff common room; unlike Gryffindor's, with its ever-changing passwords, all you need to get into ours is to tap the barrels to the right rhythm. I don't think Richardson would've found it too challenging to wheedle or bully that information out of someone. "You could've snuck in at any point last night."

I turn to Minnie for support, but I'm dismayed to see her frowning not at Richardson, but at me.

"I'm not sure he could have, Diana." She says finally, chewing her lip.

"What?! But-"

"You're right, he could've done - ordinarily. But I've been in the common room since five this morning, studying. No one came in."

Before I can I open my mouth to argue but I'm struck by the nagging realisation that I myself left the common room not long before that last night. It really is starting to look impossible that Richardson could have snuck in without one of us noticing.

For the first time, I think I may have been rash in my accusation. Worse, I've just handed Richardson months' worth of ammunition against me. One look at him confirms it: this is Christmas come early for him. The smile sliding over his face is one of pure delight. Beside him, Rooshlin is in fits of sniggers and Marks wears an expression of great satisfaction.

"You really _are_ losing your mind, aren't you, Granger?" Richardson smirks, with the air of a victor who absolutely knows he's won. He sneers at me. "Thinking I'd touch any of your worthless Muggle trinkets."

"Don't get cocky, Richardson." Minnie says sharply. Then she flashes a dark smile that could rival Richardson's own. "I'd hate to tell Erik that you aren't playing nicely." She steps nearer, her voice becoming soft, low. "He might even be less inclined to keep up _his_ side of the bargain."

For a second, my tidal wave of humiliation pauses, cut short by confusion.

And for once in his life, Richardson is not looking at me.

I take the opportunity to turn on my heels and walk away as fast as I can, without looking back. I've only made it a dozen yards away when I hear my name.

"Diana?" It's Minnie, falling into step with me after hurrying in my wake. "Are you alright?"

"Sure." I grimace, then look up. "Um...thanks for - y'know. Helping me out there."

She smiles. "No problem at all. I see why you suspected him first. The little snake."

"I was wondering…" I venture. "What did you mean? About, um, 'keeping up his side of the bargain'?"

Minnie pauses, as if deciding what to say. "Well," she decides. "Let's just say I know a few things that are... a little too close for his comfort."

Her tone's still light, her smile mock-conspiratorial, but I think there's something deliberate in how little she's revealing. Still, I'm in no position to push her.

"Whatever it is, it worked." I say gratefully.

"Anyway, I've got to head off to the Quidditch pitch now. That's why I was out, actually - but I thought what was happening over there looked a little suspicious." Minnie nods towards the lake.

"Well, thanks again," I say, trying for a smile.

"Don't worry about it. And good luck finding your book! I'll help you out later, if you like - though I'm sure you'll have found it by then." She smiles encouragingly and gives me a wave as she heads off.

I make a beeline for the castle, my head swirling. I still feel burning embarrassment and slight curiosity, but my main focus is finding my book. There's no way I misplaced it, but maybe someone other than Richardson stole it? But who? I almost laugh in my desperation - how many enemies can I have made in less than a fortnight of school?

I storm up to the common room, wracking my brain for all the possible places it could be, so much so that I'm lost in thought when I finally push open the door. I've only just stepped inside when I stop dead.

Greg is sitting on the yellow-striped armchair, and in his hands is my book. He looks up and smiles as I approach.

"Oh, hi, Diana."

 _What?!_ "Hi...the book, Greg - where did you get it?" I ask uncertainly.

"Oh, it was in your satchel, over there," he says, pointing to the spot where I left it last night.

I pause, wrong-footed. "You - you got it out my bag?"

"Yes, earlier on. I took it to the library to read in peace - just got back." He nods casually, and only then does he notice my expression. "What's wrong?" He asks, the smile slipping a bit.

"It's just - I've been looking for it, Greg. I thought it'd been lost. Stolen, even." I cringe, thinking about Richardson and Minnie.

"Oh. Well, don't worry, it's been safe with me! I'm always careful with it."

"Um….you're _always_ careful with it?" I say slowly. "You've taken it before?"

"A bit," he says. "I just get so absorbed, I can't put it down!"  
 _  
How have I never noticed this?_ I puzzle. Surely if he was doing it when I was in the common room, I would have realised? Am I that unobservant? Or has he been doing it when it's quieter - during lessons? Suddenly, I wonder if his recent lateness has been entirely accidental. __  
  
"It's just - you can't really take stuff without asking, Greg." I say, extremely awkwardly.

"Oh - but-" He looks crestfallen. "But - you let me look at it on train..."

"Well, yes - but that was _then_. I would have let you look at it, I just need you to ask first. That book - it means a lot to me, Greg."

"Oh." He looks slightly petulant. "OK, then." He gets up off the armchair and retreats to the boys' dorm, resting my book on one of its arms - all without looking at me once.

I sink slowly into the chair.

His reaction makes me unsure of myself. Am I being unfair, unkind? It's not like he broke into my dorm and stole it; I suppose I did leave it in the common room. But it was inside my bag! That was hardly an invitation to go rummaging around in it, was it? And even if he took it that way, surely he would notice that I'd lost something important, what with Blossom and the others looking for it? _How could he,_ asks a little voice in my head, _when he barely ever speaks to anyone but you?_

I stew all morning, caught between frustration, guilt and terrible embarrassment whenever I think about my accusation. I try to do my Astronomy homework with the others, but I'd find it difficult at the best of times - right now, I can barely write my own name. When Ruby finally emerges from the dorm and the others decide to go down to get something to eat, I tell them I'm not hungry and stay put, fiddling with my quill and avoiding anyone's eyes.

Now that my initial anger is fading, the full force of my embarrassment is creeping back. I keep replaying the Richardson confrontation in my mind, cringing further into my chair every time.

Should I apologise? I _did_ accuse him unjustly, and throw a whole lot of insulting his intelligence into the bargain. But the thought of saying sorry to Richardson is nauseating. Besides, it's no one's fault but his own that I suspected him first. He's hardly rushing to say sorry to me for those times he's called me a Mudblood or ambushed me after Charms or pretty much ordered Suzette to stay away from me.

No, I don't owe him anything. I'm more worried that I'll have given him an idea - now he knows I have a weakness, something I care about enormously that he can very easily exploit. I bury my head in my hands, wishing that I'd never got up this morning.

I only look up to the sound of my name.

"Diana? Can I - um - talk to you?" It's Greg. He's twisting his hands nervously, but he's finally stopped avoiding my eyes. I take this as a good sign and nod.

"Sure." I follow him into the empty corridor, where he takes a couple of deep breaths as if gathering his nerve.

"I just wanted to say sorry for taking your book." He says quickly. "You were right. I should've asked."

He looks so forlorn, so genuinely apologetic, that my frustration melts away. I smile awkwardly. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry too - I might have been a bit harsh. It's only because I was worried that someone - well, Spencer Richardson, actually - had stolen it. And I'd just gone and made an idiot out of myself."

He shakes his head. "No, you were right to be angry. I guess I'm not very - very good at talking to people." He falters slightly. "Not very good at all, really."

I'm not sure what to say. 'I've noticed' seems tactless, even if it's true, so I just nod in what I hope is a vaguely encouraging way.

"But I - I've always been better with animals, you see," he looks up earnestly. "Especially dragons. Not that I've ever met one, of course. But I think - I think they're amazing. You know?"

I nod eagerly. This is one thing I most definitely know about. "Yeah, I do. I think that too."

"And when I came here I was really….scared, I guess. The train was the worst. So crowded and noisy - and I was too shy to talk to anyone. But you were- you were really nice, and you showed me your book...I guess I got a bit too enthusiastic about it."

I nod again, surmising that the best thing I can do right now is listen.

"And I sort of knew that I probably should've asked….but you were always surrounded by people and I was too nervous to in front of everyone. Especially when you were with that Slytherin girl. So I just...didn't." He looks at me slightly wistfully. "You're really good at making friends, Diana, and I'm not."

I nod. "I get it. But, Greg - everyone's really nice! Even, er, 'that Slytherin girl'." I smile slightly ruefully. "You don't have to be worried about them. They'll all like you! Why don't you come and sit with us later? We're going to try and figure out that Potions homework we got yesterday and we could use an extra brain..."

He still looks uncertain, but he gives a bracing nod anyway. "OK then."

"Great." I smile, about to duck back into the common room.

"Um - Diana?" He asks tentatively.

"Yep?"

"Could I - could I still have a look at your dragon book, sometimes?" He asks hopefully. "Not now, of course. But sometimes? I promise I'll always ask first."

I give him a wide smile. "Of course." I nod, turning back to the common room door.


	10. Catastrophe

**A/N: Here's the next chapter - sorry if it's a bit focused on canon events, we had to get them up and rolling. Next chapter will be more OC-based again. Thanks for reading! :) (Also, sorry about the bad pun title. We couldn't resist!)**

* * *

October arrives, and the days blur into weeks.

Slowly, I settle into life at Hogwarts. With regular (if slightly tiring) coaching from Hermione and slightly gentler help from Blossom, my schoolwork improves a little. I'm still hopeless at Potions and struggle with Transfiguration, but I manage to climb to a solid average in most classes, and that's good enough for me. Suzette is razor-sharp but pretty uninterested in lessons; our lone attempt to study together dissolved into a very ferocious game of Exploding Snap. We stick to swimming.

The lesson that maintains consistent excitement among most of my classmates is flying. No one recreates Harry Potter's dazzling success from last year and manages to make the Quidditch team as a first-year, but Ruby's told by Madam Hooch that she shows real promise and should consider trying out next year, as are a few of the Ravenclaws we have our lessons with. Suzette has developed a series of mysterious illnesses before every one of her flying lessons which miraculously fade whenever they're over. She's told me that she has "absolutely no interest at all in trying to flit about on a glorified mop", but it seems like she's on her own there: I get frequent updates from a very excited Atticus about how much he's enjoying flying and how he can't wait for the Quidditch season to start. Apparently, Chance is also pretty good at it, which had inflated his ego unbearably. He's only getting more and more annoying.

Mercifully, the same can't be said for Greg. True to his word, he's started hanging around us a little more in the common room, though he still says very little to anyone except me. Still, it's some progress.

The one that really surprises me, though, is Richardson.

Following the confrontation by the lake, I'd expected him to up his campaign, eager to exploit such a stupid mistake on my part, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Instead, he's seemed pretty subdued - the most he's done to me since my accusation is shoot me dark looks and mutter the odd snide comment. I don't know how to feel about it - is he trying to lull me into a false sense of security, planning some elaborate revenge after I insulted his intelligence? Or is he genuinely easing off, chastened by Minnie's threat? The answer, I'm sure, lies in this mysterious bargain, but I wouldn't feel right trying to wheedle answers out of Minnie - and I highly doubt I'd be successful. Instead, I turn to the friend that shares a common room and all her classes with Richardson, but I still come up frustratingly empty-handed.

"Are you _sure_ he's never mentioned an Erik?" I ask Suzette yet again as we lie on our backs under the rustling trees one blustery Sunday afternoon.

"As sure as I've been the last hundred times, Diana." She says, in a weary tone. "I definitely haven't heard him mention anyone called Erik, _or_ a bargain. Although, I suppose I do tend to tune him out…"

"You do?"

She arches her eyebrows. "If you had to be with His Lordship and that twittering fanclub 24/7, wouldn't you?"

"True," I concede, then groan under my breath. "Constant contact with Richardson...that must be _painful_."

"You're telling me! Just think, while you're in your badgers' set, baking fairy cakes and knitting mittens, I'm stuck listening to his one-man show. He's not the only infuriating one, either."

" _Baking fairy cakes and knitting mittens?"_ I demand, flipping onto my side and staring in mock-outrage. "Getting a bit stereotypical, aren't we?"

"That's who you are; don't even try and deny it," she grins.

Come to think of it, Juliette _was_ knitting something pink and fluffy last night, but Suzette doesn't have to know that. "Careful, Suz," I tease. "There are a fair few things I could assume about _your_ house, aren't there?"

She rolls her eyes. "What, and your Gryffindor friend hasn't already done that for you?"

In all seriousness, she's right. Chance hasn't launched into any more full-on lectures about the dangers of consorting with Slytherins, but in between boasting about his flying exploits he spends most of Herbology tutting and muttering under his breath whenever we make eye contact. I can't even ask him to pass me a watering can without him shooting me a stern, reproachful look, like I'm a kid with my hand caught in the biscuit jar. Atticus is as friendly as ever, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't know that he agrees with his friend. The enmity between Gryffindor and Slytherin is intense, only getting more and more potent as we approach the first Quidditch match of the season - where they'll be playing against each other. I wouldn't be surprised if anyone was 'accidentally' knocked off their broom.

I shrug. "I don't think he means to, but I guess Atticus _is_ making few assumptions."

"Atticus?" Suzette says, her face blank. "Is he the red-faced one?"

"The red-faced one is _not_ my friend." I say darkly.

"Isn't he?" She frowns. "He spends most of Potions talking about how much your sister likes him."

"What?!" I splutter in disbelief.

"I'm serious!" She says. "Last week it was all about how she, umm, 'respected him as a true Gryffindor'. Oh, and apparently Harry Potter asked him for Quidditch tips."

I burst out laughing. "You'd think she might have mentioned him, y'know, _once_ , if she 'respected' him so much. As for Quidditch… well, you'd know better than me, you have flying lessons with him. Or have you skived off _all_ of them?"

She gasps. "Skiving? I assure you that that cough was one hundred percent real."

"Oh, I'm sure it was," I grin, then swing myself into a sitting position and run my hands through my hair, picking out a couple of stray leaves. "I just wish I knew what it all _meant."_ I moan again, hit by a new wave of frustration.

"Really? I would never have known." Suzette says mildly, but she's wearing a thinly-veiled smirk. I swat her arm in retaliation.

"Come on! You're not even a little bit curious? I mean… whatever this bargain is, it could be Richardson's only weakness!"

She shrugs. "Alright, I'm a _little_ bit curious. But not enough to waste all my time to thinking about someone so obnoxious. And so extremely _boring."_

I open my mouth to protest, but she's already pulling me to me feet with a stern glint in her eye. "And _you_ need to stop obsessing over it and think about something else before your head explodes."

"My head's not going to explode."

"It might - I need a target to practise that Knock-Back Jinx on..."

She brandishes her wand threateningly; I make a swipe for it, overshoot and end up tumbling back to the ground, pulling her with me. We surface, still clawing for the wand, dripping with orange leaves and laughing like maniacs.

* * *

Everyone's excited for Hallowe'en. People with older siblings are full of stories about previous in years' celebrations, the delectable feast and extraordinary decorations. I myself remember it more because it was this time last year that my sister was trapped in the bathroom with a mountain troll, and that she made friends with Ron and Harry - but I'm excited for the evening all the same.

On the 31st of October, just as the sun's beginning to sink, Suzette and I wander back to the school after hanging out by the lake for the afternoon. I've been showing her _Fire and Fang_ for the first time and after her initial indifference to dragons, I'm pretty sure I've converted her. She's already pinpointed the Brazilian Featherback, an aptly-named breed whose scales make its wings look like those of an enormous bird, as her favourite. We're lost in conversation about the Featherback until we reach the Entrance Hall, when we both stop and loiter for a minute. Despite the excited chatter and delicious scents floating in from the Great Hall, my mood lapses momentarily. I guess there's nothing wrong with the House Tables, but right now they're yet again the reason I can't sit with my friend.

"Meet you here after?" I say bracingly, deciding not to voice my feelings. Suzette seems to follow my lead.  
"See you soon!" She nods quickly, then goes off to sit at the Slytherin table. I watch her settle with a few other first-year girls, then approach my own table. The other Hufflepuffs in my year are sat near the end - and my spirits lift when I spot Greg sitting with the rest of them; it looks like he's still keeping his promise.

"Hey, Diana!" Juliette waves me over, and everyone shuffles down to make room for me on the end.

"Evening, all," I grin round, then take in the decorations. The Great Hall has been adorned with swarms of live bats, and pumpkin lanterns the size of carriages spill a flickering orange glow over everything. "Wow!"

"Very impressive, isn't it?" Nods Richard Finch-Fletchley, who I can't help but notice is sitting right next to a positively beaming Blossom. Additri flickers her eyes towards the pair of them and shoots me a knowing look.

" _And_ I've heard that Dumbledore's booked a troupe of dancing skeletons for later!" Ruby adds excitedly. "They've really gone all-out."

Soon, the golden plates fill with an endless array of food. The feast is so delicious, the atmosphere so high and the entertainment so good - seriously, dancing skeleton troupes would not go amiss in the Muggle world - that I'm very quickly caught up in it all, any irritation forgotten.

"Coming back to the common room, Diana?" Blossom asks me as the final applause dies down and people begin to get up from the tables.

"In a bit," I say. "I'm just meeting Suzette."

I give everyone a wave as I move off towards the door, where Suzette's already waiting for me.

"Good time?" I ask.

"Very. Though lacking in badgers." She says with a smile, as we start to get swept away in the swarm of students leaving the Great Hall.

"Hear anything Richardson-related?" I mutter, though the chatter's so loud I don't think I'd be overheard if I shouted.

"I was a bit distracted by the skeletons," she replies under her breath. "He seemed pretty quiet, actually - didn't say much at all."

I nod slowly. That in itself is interesting. "D'you think he's actually easing off because he's still worried? Or is he...plotting?"

"Let's hope it's the first." She pauses, then grins wickedly. "You know, I do think it would be much easier to just jinx him."

I laugh as we enter a long corridor. "I don't think that's wise…"

"Are you sure? I mean, I _still_ need someone's head to practise that Knock-Back Jinx on…"

All of a sudden, the crowd halts. I nearly overbalance on my momentum, but manage to steady myself before I topple into the student in front of me, a particularly tall boy who's completely blocking my view of what's ahead. Frustrated, I shuffle to my right and stand on my tip-toes, peer over the heads of all the pupils ahead and finally lay eyes on the subject of their shock.

A weight drops in my stomach.

There is a message daubed on the wall in foot-high scarlet lettering.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

Underneath the still-shining words hangs Filch's cat, Mr Norris, stiff and unmoving. _Dead?_ Next to me, I hear Suzette's sharp intake of breath; shock hangs over the corridor like a cloud.

And right in the middle of the scene, under the suspicious eyes of fifty students, are Harry, Ron and my sister.

You could cut the tension with a knife.

The silence is palpable, broken only by a sudden shout from a slight blond-haired boy who pushes his way to the front of the crowd and surveys the motionless cat with glee. His green-striped tie is the only other tip-off I need to place him as Draco Malfoy. He looks around, flushed and excited. "Enemies of the heir, beware!" He crows. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

I shrink further into the crowd, feeling my heart rate pick up, sweat beginning to gather on my palms. Suzette looks to me, her grey-green eyes wide with fear, and edges slightly closer.

"What's going on here? What's going on?" Comes a raspy voice - it's Filch, shouldering through the crowd and stopping dead in front of Mrs Norris, frozen with horror. "My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs Norris?"

Then he looks to Harry. " _You!"_ He shrieks. " _You!_ You've murdered my cat! You've killed her! I'll kill you! I'll-"

" _Argus!_ " Professor Dumbledore sweeps in, Professors Snape and McGonagall hurrying in his footsteps. He detaches the immobile cat from the torch bracket with his signature air of calmness. "Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart steps forward with inappropriate bounce. "My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs, please feel free-"

"Thank you, Gilderoy."

The crowd splits to let the party pass. I desperately try to catch Hermione's eye as she slips through, but she looks stolidly ahead, until they all disappear into Lockhart's office. The door swings shut, and with it, the silence is gradually replaced by the low hum of dozens of mutterings. The mass begins to thin out as people move away, but I'm still stuck, unable to tear my eyes from the writing on the wall.

"C'mon, Diana," Suzette murmurs, tugging my arm. I force myself to start walking.

"What...what was that?" I ask slowly. _And what was Hermione doing here?_

"I don't know. Nothing good." Suzette says, sounding unusually grave. "Come on, I'll walk with you to your common room."

* * *

Over the next few days, there is only one topic of conversation: who - or what - could have Petrified Mrs Norris. The whole school is buzzing with tension, rumours flying back and forth wildly. The atmosphere isn't helped by the fact that Filch is totally unsuccessful in trying to scrub the message off the wall, and so it still looms over the corridor threateningly.

Hermione sought me out first thing on November 1st and explained everything - that she, Harry and Ron attended a Deathday Party and stumbled onto the scene of the attack after following a disembodied voice that only Harry heard. "But don't mention that to anyone, won't you, Diana?" She'd said briskly. "I'm not sure I was even supposed to tell you…" I'd nodded, bemused.

My sister's had a slightly frantic air ever since the attack, devoting even more of her time to the library - which, previous to this week, I wouldn't have thought possible.

When, a couple of days later, I ask her why she's lugging a dozen heavy volumes everywhere she goes, she sounds extremely frustrated. "I'm looking for something." Hermione mutters, still scanning her page fervently. "And I couldn't bring my copy of _Hogwarts: A History,_ so I'm having to try and look elsewhere…"

"What're you looking for?"

She looks up. "I want to read up on the Chamber of Secrets."

"Huh?" I blink. "What's that?"

"Well, I can't remember it properly, that's why I'm looking. But I'm _sure_ it had something to do with these sorts of attacks…"

I fiddle with my quill, thinking. "Maybe there's someone you can ask about it?"

"Yes," she nods slowly, as if struck by a sudden idea. "Maybe there is…"

* * *

It turns out, I don't have to wait for Hermione to find out about the mysterious Chamber of Secrets. After asking all my dorm-mates if they'd ever heard of it after Hermione mentioned it yesterday, I came up empty. Additri, as a fellow Muggle-born, was completely blank; Juliette and Blossom seemed equally uncertain. Ruby said that her brother might have mentioned it once and was looking into it again, but she didn't have a clue herself ("to be honest, I tend to drift off a wee bit whenever he starts talking…") so I was left to stew on it unproductively.

Just one day later, though, we suddenly hit the jackpot. We're all gathered around one of the tables, plodding through the day's Defence homework (yet more Lockhart pointlessness) when a very welcome interruption arrives.

"I've got it." Roderick Mallenry announces, pulling up an armchair and slamming down a hefty book on our table.

"Don't bother with saying hello or anything." Ruby says drily, but her brother seems way too absorbed to respond, skimming his page as if in a trance.

"I've found the Chamber of Secrets." He tells us.

At that, some of the chatter on surrounding tables begins to die down as people look towards Roderick expectantly.

" _The Legend of the Chamber of Secrets."_ He reads aloud, then looks up.

"Well, you know how to get an audience, Rod." Ruby says, with a ghost of her usual grin. "Go on, then."

"Well, it all started with the founders. Salazar Slytherin fell out with the others-" ("-what a surprise," mutters someone from the sofa next to us.) "Slytherin fell out with the others over whether or not Muggle-borns should be allowed into the school. He and Gryffindor had a huge fight over it, and then Slytherin left Hogwarts for good. That much is fact."

"But what about the Chamber of Secrets?" Asks Kelvin Blair.

"That's where it comes in. According to the legend-" Roderick scans the book rapidly. "According to the legend, Slytherin had built a hidden chamber, which housed a monster."

The whole common room is silent now, hooked on his every word. Daniela Bregalia, Roderick's chocolate-haired friend, comes and stands behind him, reading over his shoulder.

"What was the monster?" Blossom asks, her blue eyes round with fear.

"No one knows. No one except Slytherin, that is. And no one could command it except his one true heir - and when they arrived at Hogwarts, they'd be able to open the Chamber and - and ' _unleash the horror within.'_ "

"So they'd use the creature as a weapon," Daniela says, shaking her head in disgust.

"And this - this is happening again, now?" Asks a second-year girl with blonde plaits and pink cheeks, her voice slightly shaky.

"The book says it's just a legend." Roderick says quickly. "A myth. But still... it seems suspicious…"

There's a ripple of assent from around the room. Then a handsome fourth-year with dark hair and grey eyes asks the question on everyone's minds. "But if it _does_ exist, and it's been opened again, then the heir of Slytherin - they've got to be at Hogwarts now. Who could it be?"

There's a heavy silence as everyone ponders the question.

"You know, I think it's a bit suspicious that Potter and his friends were seen _right_ by the scene of the attack. I mean, Filch suspected him immediately, didn't he?" Pipes up a fifth-year boy from his seat by the window.

"No way." I cut in quickly. "My sister was there, there's no chance she's involved - she's Muggle-born herself!"

"And they're not in Slytherin." Adds Roderick, frowning over at him. "I doubt that that Salazar Slytherin would have some Gryffindor as his heir."

"He might. It'd be a great way to put people off the scent." The boy says stubbornly.

There's an outbreak of muttering. Most people seem unconvinced, but a few seem to be mulling this theory over. Justin Finch-Fletchley looks to his plump friend, who's nodding slowly, his face crumpled into a concentrated frown. Slowly, everyone starts speculating in their individual groups, the noise rising to its normal level - though I can't say the same for the tension, which is still sky-high.

Roderick closes his book and starts to engage Daniela in frantic, worried conversation. I slump back in my chair, my head aching from the weight of a dozen unanswered questions.

* * *

A few days later, Hermione and I walk back from the library. "I suppose you've heard about the Chamber of Secrets by now?" She asks me. "I know I'm not the only one who thought of it - lots of people have been trying to read up on it."

I nod. "My friend's brother found it in, er... _A Hogwarts History?"  
_

" _Hogwarts: A History,"_ Hermione rectifies me, but even her correcting of errors seems lacklustre. "It looks like it's been opened again." She says sadly.

"But how could it have _happened_?" I ask, my voice slightly desperate.

"Well, we have our own suspicions," She says cryptically.

"What?"

"It's not so much a matter of what, but _who."_

I frown. "The heir of Slytherin? You think you know who it is?"

"Draco Malfoy." She looks at me. "I mean, I was sceptical at first...but it does make sense, you see. A proud Slytherin from an old pure-blood family… We're going to try and see if he'll admit it."

I nod slowly, but I'm distracted. I've just thought of another candidate - another pure-blood Slytherin bully, who clearly has nothing but contempt for Muggle-borns. Before I can think on this any longer, I'm struck with a problem. "But how are you going to get close enough to ask him? I mean, he's hardly going to tell you three, is he?"

"Well," she lowers her voice further still. "There's something called a Polyjuice Potion…"

"Never heard of it." I shrug.

"Well, you wouldn't have - it's very complex - I only know about it because Snape mentioned it last week."

If I tried to remember anything Snape said ten minutes ago, I'd come up blank, let alone last week - but in this case, it's possible my sister's crystal-clear memory might actually save some lives. "So what does this stuff do?" I ask, intrigued. "How will it help you?"

"It lets you transform into someone else. So we can become a few Slytherins for an hour or so and sneak into their common room."

I whistle under my breath. "That's kind of scary… what if you got caught mid-transformation?!"

She brushes aside my concern. "We'll just have to be careful, that's all. But we really do need to hear what Malfoy's saying to his friends. He's just the type to show off about it."

I mull this over for a few seconds, and then it hits me like a train. Of course...how could I be so stupid?!

"Hermione!" I hiss. "I can just ask Suzette to spy on him! They share a common room!"

To my disappointment, she doesn't look quite as blown away by this brainwave as I'd hoped. "Well," she says hesitantly. "I suppose you _could_ ask her…"

"What's wrong?" I ask, my heart sinking. "It's because she's in Slytherin, isn't it? You don't trust her to tell me the truth?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Hermione says briskly, as if making up her mind. "Yes, ask your friend to listen for anything suspicious. And we'll use the Polyjuice plan as well. Between us, I'm sure we can get to the bottom of it."

* * *

"Hey," I whisper, first thing in Charms on Monday as I slide into my chair next to Suzette. "I have another spying mission for you."

" _Another_ one?" She raises her eyebrows, pausing in taking out her quill.

"Yep. Well, I was so impressed by your absolute dedication to the first one, I thought _who better_ , you know?"

"Careful, Diana, or I'll back out of espionage completely." She teases, then looks at me sideways. "So, who d'you want me to listen to now?"

"It's not so much for me." I mutter. "More my sister. She thinks - well, she and her friends are pretty certain that Draco Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin."

Suzette pauses, considering it.

"Old Slytherin family," I prompt. "Descended from a pure-blood line...clearly happy after Mrs Norris was attacked…total git...y'know, it all sort of fits. And my sister says he'd probably show off about it."

She nods slowly, though she doesn't look completely convinced. "Well, he won't be hard to listen to." Suzette says thoughtfully. "He's always holding court, blaring his opinions and going _on_ about 'my father' this and 'my father' that. And he _would_ be the type to show off about that kind of thing… but, Diana, if you're going to consider him… why not Richardson?"

I chew my lip. "Well… I sort of _have_ been considering Richardson. And I was wondering if…?"

"Let me guess," Suzette sighs. "You want me to listen to him for anything Chamber of Secrets-related, as well as the bargain thing?"

I blink imploringly. "Please?"

She rolls her eyes, but amusement starts to rise on her face. "Oh, alright, then. It _would_ be great to catch either of them out."

"You're honestly wonderful," I tell her.

"Oh, stop. But when Christmas arrives, you owe me a thousand Sugar Quills, a trip to see Brazilian Featherbacks in the wild and a get-out-of-jail-free card for any and all future flying lessons."

I shake my head, grinning, and take out my Charms textbook. "Deal."


	11. Lion, Meet Snake

The news of Colin Creevey's attack spreads like wildfire.

Suzette and I didn't bother going to the Gryffindor vs Slytherin match ("Well, I'll go when it's Hufflepuff playing, to support my house," I'd reasoned. "Great. I'll go when they offer me a million Galleons to turn up." Suzette had shrugged.) Now we've entered November, the lake is so cold that even we've had to admit defeat, so we took advantage of having the whole of the grounds to ourselves and explored right up to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, deep in dragon-related conversation.

When we wandered back to the castle, the whole school was buzzing with the news of Gryffindor's victory, a rogue Bludger which apparently fixated solely on trying to unseat Harry Potter, and Lockhart's absolute inability to heal bones but surprising aptitude at removing them. I had a very enjoyable evening watching Ruby impersonate Draco Malfoy's failed attempt to catch the Snitch (which apparently involved a lot of flailing arms), and the mood in the Hufflepuff common room was light.

The next day, though, we're hit by a far bigger and scarier bombshell: that Colin Creevey is lying in the hospital wing, Petrified, clutching a camera with its film burned right out. I hear it from a very disheartened Atticus, who'd obviously shared a dorm with Colin and had apparently become quite good friends with him. Afterwards, I keep replaying his jubilance at the Sorting Ceremony in my head, the way he stopped and snapped a photograph of his cheering house-mates.

Now both he and his camera are out of action. It's terrible.

And, for the first time, I start to fear for myself. That my blood status will put me in danger - that, in Chance's words, I have a 'target on my back.'

I don't seem to be alone in my anxiousness. Over the next few weeks, a roaring trade in supposedly protective talismans springs up, their dealers raking in Galleons and Sickles from the masses of nervous students. Hermione takes a very sceptical view of all these amulets and wastes no time in telling me not to be gullible, so I steer clear, but Additri purchases a large indigo crystal rumoured to repel Dark magic and refuses to sleep unless it's situated right under our door-frame. As well as this, almost all the first-years have started moving through the corridors in large groups. I don't think it's a coincidence that whenever I'm walking to and from classes with my housemates, Additri and I always seem to end up right in the middle of the knot.

Given the tense atmosphere, I bug Hermione incessantly about the state of the Polyjuice Potion - she tells me in a steadily wearier tone that it will be ready by Christmas. Edginess makes me impatient, though, so I turn to Suzette for any reports at her end. Sadly, it looks like she's having about as much luck finding out about the Chamber of Secrets as she is trying to eavesdrop for any mention of Richardson's bargain - that is, none.

"Nothing," she tells me one afternoon when I ask if she's heard anything of interest. "Malfoy bragged about his broomstick for an hour solid yesterday, but nothing on the Chamber of Secrets. And Richardson wasn't around at all."

The lack of progress in either approach leaves me feeling slightly frantic, but November slides into December with no more attacks. One day we wake up to find the grounds glazed with frost and a piece of parchment on the noticeboard informing us of a Duelling Club on the 17th. Everyone seems up for it, so I head to the Great Hall with my dorm-mates on Thursday, theorising about who might be teaching us (Hermione told me it could be Professor Flitwick, who was apparently a duelling champion in his time.) The Hall is packed with students, and a golden stage has been erected. My heart sinks to my shoes when our teacher strides onto the stage - it definitely isn't Flitwick.

"Professor Lockhart!" Additri exclaims, clutching her hands to her chest as the Defence Against the Dark Arts 'teacher' strides onto the stage.

"This is going to be _wonderful!"_ Juliette sighs.

_Why him?_ I groan inwardly. Not only is he an incompetent idiot, he makes half my friends (and my sister) weak at the knees and excruciating to be around.

"We're probably going to be in pairs to practise," Ruby says, noting that Lockhart's being followed by - _oh, joy -_ and especially sour-looking Snape.

I suddenly spot a familiar long braid of dark hair amongst the crowds of people standing about. "I can go so you guys can partner off," I offer.

"Are you sure?" Blossom asks.

"Sure - Suzette's over there." I nod towards the other side of the room. _And I can escape the Lockhart love,_ I think, slightly guiltily. In my defence, though, I have spent the whole summer with an increasingly enamoured Hermione, frequently wearing a puppy-dog expression I never thought I'd see until he and his stupid hair poofed themselves into our lives - my tolerance is low. I wave to my dorm-mates and slip through the crowd with relative ease. As I'm making my journey, I get a very brief glance of a certain Spencer Richardson slipping out of the room, but his absence is something I'm extremely grateful for. Maybe Lockhart being here does have its perks, if that's what's warding him off?

When I reach Suzette, she's got an expression on her face which I can only describe as 'Suzette-like'. Her thin brows are arched, her lips positioned into an unimpressed line and her eyes hooded with a disapproving glower, but despite this, she's still as tanned, fresh-faced and pretty as always. Her hair's woven upwards into an extravagant braid that falls down her back and, stupidly enough, my heart stutters a little when I notice who's standing next to her.

Lancelot 'call me Lance' Marchelle LaBrie is every bit as devastatingly handsome as I'd imagine, having seen his brother up close and heard a crowd of girls squealing over him on the train. His dark hair's slicked back from his face, exposing his bright green eyes and sharp cheekbones. I know it's childish admiring your best friend's older brother, but under these circumstances, can I really be blamed?

"Diana!" Suzette's unimpressed expression breaks as she spots me and waves me over enthusiastically. I notice that I get a couple of stares from a gang of Slytherins just behind her but avoid their gazes resolutely.

"Hiya," I say, reaching my friend. "Can you believe we have _him?"_ I nod towards the stage.

"Well, a few people don't seem too upset," she nods to the nearest knot of second-year girls, who are gazing at Lockhart with expressions similar to Juliette and Additri's. "They certainly seem to like him."

"My sister does, too." I say gloomily.

"Ah, she's still a Lockhart fan?"

I groan. "How can someone who aces every test she touches turn to mush at such an idiot?"

"Well, girls can get quite ridiculous over very undeserving candidates," she says, looking slyly up at her brother. "Isn't that true, Lance?"

"Such wit, little sister," he rolls his eyes and ruffles her neatly braided hair; she swats his hand away before he does any lasting damage.

On the other side of the room, I notice a group of fifth-year Gryffindor girls - including Atticus' cousin - making their way inside, engrossed in chatter.

"I've got to go, Suzette," Lance mutters suddenly, his eyes trained on the group. "Oh, nice to see you, Diana."

_He knows my name!_ I think, with stupid excitement. "You too!" I squeak. Suzette gives me a withering look. Before either of us can say anything, there's a very loud and deliberate announcement from behind us.

"I was just saying to my father how very disappointing it is to see certain so-called Slytherins consorting with _Muggle-borns_ ," says the pinched voice I now know to be Draco Malfoy's. I tense, my hand hovering above my wand.

"Ignore him," Suzette mutters, then begins projecting her voice so suddenly I almost jump. "It's funny, isn't it, that certain so-called Slytherins can blather on endlessly about their wonderful fathers and _still_ manage to be a giant disappointment to everyone and everything around them?"

There's an outbreak of furious muttering from behind us. I grin at her.

"Malfoy's an absolute moron; wouldn't shut up in the common room about how brilliant his duelling would be here," Suzette whispers.

"Don't even know what _I'm_ doing here. I don't think Lockhart could fight his way out of a paper bag." I mutter.

"Ah, but where's your Hufflepuff optimism?" Suzette teases, nudging me in the ribs. "Who knows, perhaps we'll learn something."

"May I have your attention, everyone!" Lockhart calls, clapping flamboyantly from the centre of the platform. "Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works." He nods in an intensely self-satisfied manner, and a few girls across the room from us look close to swooning.

"We will learn nothing," Suzette whispers, deadpan, and I laugh under my breath.

Obviously, I'm not immune to crushes myself - something Suzette has exasperatedly resigned herself to, given my inability to behave like a non-ridiculous human being around her older brothers - but the constant aura of self-congratulatory smugness surrounding the celebrity repels me pretty effectively. His voice drones away in that irritating buzz and I zone out of listening properly.

Deciding to amuse myself, I resume my people-watching. Across the other side of the room - stood nearby Juliette and Additri, still gazing adoringly - is Atticus, Chance next to him, alongside another Gryffindor boy I've seen them messing about with a couple of times outside of classes. He's got bushy waves of hazel brown hair and - currently - an expression of disinterest. Ruby's next to the dark-haired guy and she's practically gnawing her lip off as she glares daggers towards the Lockhart, occasionally tugging on the ends of her blonde bunches out of boredom.

A little to the left, I notice that Lance has found his target and is whispering something in Sybella Stark's ear. The close proximity of his mouth to those lemon blonde curls is something even the most ignorant of minds - I'm currently debating whether or not it's Chance Binkins or Spencer Richardson, but I'm stuck on whether bigotry and delusion can be classified in the same bracket - couldn't misinterpret as anything but romantic whisperings from a boyfriend to his girlfriend. Sybella has a delighted smile on her face, even if she's biting her lip to conceal it, and hugging her bag a little tighter to her chest.

I turn to Suzette. "Think Chance Binkins knows your brother's pinched his, um... unfortunate object of affections?"

She tilts her head. "Hmm. One the one hand, my brother's being about as subtle as a rampaging Hippogriff... but on the other, Chance wouldn't have the brains to notice if he were being gored to death by one, so…" she tails off, examining the red-faced Gryffindor with mild interest. He, too, is ignoring Lockhart, instead choosing to bore his eyes into the back of Lance's head.

"I reckon he's noticed," I whisper. "His glaring looks just a bit more angry than usual."

"Quite an achievement!" Suzette giggles. "Ooh, something's happening!" She nods towards the stage, where Snape and Lockhart are preparing to duel; the former has an expression similar to Chance's. Both he and Lockhart bow with wildly differing levels of enthusiasm.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart twitters. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"Wouldn't put it past Snape," I whisper. "Look at his face!"

"One - two - three-"

" _Expelliamus!_ " Snape bellows, cutting off Lockhart before he's even begin to speak. There's a blinding red flash and Lockhart is blasted backwards, his wand rocketing from his hand. From the gang behind us I hear a series of cheers.

Suzette rolls her eyes and I'm not too surprised. The show of wild excitement being displayed by her fellow Slytherins is pretty standard, but not all that deserved. Like an arrogant idiot of Gilderoy Lockhart's calibre would ever have a chance up against the likes of Severus Snape.

Staggering to his feet - accompanied by the satisfied titters of some students and the worried whimpers of others (my sister's likely amongst the latter ranks) - Lockhart dusts himself off and takes a few seconds to compose himself properly. His hair's poofed amusingly around his face and for a moment that grating smile is absent, but he regains his composure before any of his fanclub can properly notice this moment of open weakness. "Enough demonstrating!" He announces once the redness leaves the apples of his cheeks. "I'm going to come and amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me..."

Excitement begins to ripple through the crowds. Standing around and watching grown men (allegedly grown, in Lockhart's case) duel is one thing, but actually being let loose on each other? That's a real treat. It also reassures me once more that Spencer Richardson made his escape before this announcement, because I have a feeling that he'd realise the chaos of the students trying to Disarm each other would be a great opportunity to jinx someone - me for, example - from behind.

People are shifting around Suzette and I now, making dashes for their friends to reassure themselves of a fair chance. Having said that, one person doesn't seem to be playing it safe. I look to the other side of the Hall, to where Atticus and Chance are still standing with their brunette friend - seemingly arguing. Something tells me a certain Mr Binkins is about to make a poor decision.

"You and me, then, Diana?" Suzette brandishes her wand, then lets her arm drop when she sees my distracted face. "What's wrong? What are you looking at?"

"Chance," I nod towards the other side of the room. He's clearly agitated, his face stormy, as he shakes a frustrated-looking Atticus off his arm and marches towards Lance, who's still standing very close to Sybella Stark.

"Ahh," Suzette grins. "How I fear for my brother's safety."

"Want to go and get a better view?"

We start to edge slowly through the crowds, but the scene is so chaotic, with wands and students both being tossed about that no one pays any attention to us. We emerge around the other side of the stage, with an excellent vantage point of the unfolding drama.

"I demand a duel, LaBrie!" Chance announces as he reaches Lance, striking a theatrical pose with his wand raised. Atticus tugs on his arm, sounding more and more annoyed.

"Come on, mate, he's a fourth-year, this is stupid-"

"Push off, Atticus, I'm doing this." He snaps, freeing his arm and resuming his stance.

Lance casts a sceptical eye over his challenger and laughs easily. "I think not. I don't duel first-years."

"Refusing a duel is exactly the kind of cowardly thing I'd expect of a Slytherin!" Chance bellows, drowning out the nearby clatter of wands and shout of spells.

"He certainly knows how to get an audience," Suzette mutters. People in our vicinity are beginning to abandon their own duels now, absorbed in what promises to be a very entertaining spectacle.

"Forget it, kid." Lance smirks dismissively.

Chance steps forward and draws his back his wand.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ He roars, to Lockhart-level embarrassing anti-climax. Lance doesn't even flinch, his wand remaining steady. Chance's face deepens to scarlet, and he shakes his wand violently, as if expecting sparks to come out. Absolutely nothing happens.

Lance rolls his eyes, as if bored. _"Expelliarmus!"_ He says lightly, and Chance rockets backwards, his wand flying out of his hand and landing down on the other side of the room. He scrambles to his feet, blushing a slightly worrying purple, infuriated. Before he can attempt (and fail) another spell, there are a few separate eruptions of chaos that leave Draco Malfoy doubled over, having been shot in the stomach with a jet of silver, and Ron holding up an ashen-faced Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"I said _disarm only_!" Lockhart shouts, surveying the Hall with alarm. He picks through the crowd of students, haphazardly pulling people off the floor and looking satisfyingly flustered.

"Call me crazy," I say under my breath to Suzette. "But I don't think we're going to learn much here. Feel like skiving off?"

"I suppose nothing can top what we've just seen," she whispers, and we begin to make our way to the door.

"Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot- girls- girls!" Lockhart smiles weakly, noticing our hasty exit and stopping mid-sentence. "Don't leave - the learning's just beginning!"

"I'm sorry, Sir, Diana isn't feeling so well," Suzette says politely.

Lockhart nods, immediately distracted by another bloody nose. "Right you are, then, off you go- oh dear - I think I'd better teach you how to _block_ unfriendly spells," he announces, as we hurry out the door and into the Entrance Hall.

"That was entertaining," Suzette sighs contentedly, but I'm distracted. It's only as the sounds of carnage have diminished - all the cheering and shrieking and goading - that I register the sounds of footsteps clearly ringing out from behind us. At first I assume it's just someone else making their escape from the insanity unfolding back at the Duelling Club, but they begin to slow as they increase in noise: whoever's just departed from the chaos intends on speaking to us.

For a brief second I panic and prepare to find myself face to face with a purple-faced Chance Binkins, indignantly demanding an explanation from Suzette over her brother flooring him (something anyone with half a brain could've seen coming a mile off), but as I glance wearily over my shoulder, relief floods through me when I make eye contact with a much less unpleasant familiar face.

Atticus' cheeks are burning red - I can't tell whether it's from embarrassment or frustration - either would make sense considering his friend's stupid decision to take on a fourth year, and a talented one at that. His blonde hair's wild around his cheeks and everything about him reeks of a desire to abandon potential public humiliation.

"You alright?" I ask as I elbow Suzette lightly and she too comes to a halt, noticing the person who's just joined us. To my relief, she refrains from saying anything inflammatory and merely studies him carefully, gaze raking across him as if she's trying to figure something out.

He shrugs. "As alright as you can be after that display."

"How hard did you try stopping him?" The question's out before I can help myself, but to my relief, Atticus doesn't look anything near offended at my probing.

"Everything!" He sighs. "Told him it wasn't worth it. He couldn't win. Merlin, I even chucked in a remark about how it wasn't going to do him any favours where my cousin was concerned, but it all went right over his head! He wanted a fight with Lance Marchelle LaBrie and he got one..." Atticus' voice trails off as he comprehends Suzette standing there. His flush deepens.

"Do you enjoy befriending idiots?" Suzette's saying before I can stop her. She doesn't look smug - but her eyes are boring into him with a distinct stubbornness, and I'm hit by the sinking feeling that the two of them are about to clash.

Atticus stares back, folding his arms defensively. "He's _not_ an idiot. Well, not usually."

Suzette says nothing, but raises her eyebrows slightly, a clear signal she doesn't believe a word he says.

I'm not too fond of Chance - and the feeling's very clearly mutual - but something tells me that this is not a good time to criticise him. I've rarely seen happy-go-lucky Atticus look so ragged. "Come on, let's forget it now," I say into the tense silence.

Both of them completely ignore my attempts at mediation.

"And - and do _you_ enjoy befriending Hufflepuffs?" Atticus asks tersely. "Muggle-born ones, at that? Can't imagine that makes you very popular in _your_ house."

"Atticus!" I gasp, slightly shocked, but again, neither of them pay the any attention to me.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Suzette narrows her eyes dangerously, her shoulders tensing. The two of them are locked in a stare-down so intense I almost shrink back from the heat of it.

"Try asking Spencer Richardson what that means!" Atticus snaps. "Sure, Chance might be a bit - short-sighted - but at least he's not some pure-blood fanatic, going around harassing people! Can't go five seconds without talking like a Death Eater - on our first night, he called Diana a M-" He stops abruptly, his eyes skimming over me with something like desperation. "You know what he said, Diana!"

Before I can say anything, Suzette's furious voice cuts in.

"Well, I'll have you know that I've had a dozen arguments with Richardson since I got here, and been called a blood traitor almost every single time!" She shouts, incensed. Her eyes are wild, hands balled into fists, and her smooth olive complexion is flushed with anger. I've never seen her like this. She's always so put-together, so controlled; the drastic change is slightly unnerving. "But you couldn't care less about that, could you?!" She rages. "You just assume we're all the same!"

Atticus opens his mouth to reply, then stops. He turns to me, seemingly lost for words.

"She's stood up for me a bunch against Richardson. And Malfoy." I tell him quietly, taking advantage of his silent gawping.

Still, Atticus says nothing; he looks as if he's had some complex mathematical theory explained to him in Ancient Greek as he returns his gaze to Suzette, now looking slightly placated. I can tell that she's clocked that he's backing down, but the remnants of anger still hover in her grey-green eyes.

For a brief moment, I'm struck with the extremely uncomfortable thought of Suzette gloating in Atticus' face as she opens her mouth to speak again, but this time it's me who gets the honour of being floored with surprise.

"Well, if I can't say anything else about you, I can at least respect the fact you weren't egging on your friend in his ridiculous attempt at vengeance on my brother." She says, begrudgingly. The fury has definitely faded from her face now. If I'm gobsmacked, Atticus looks as if he's about to faint, the flush draining from his cheeks as he stares at Suzette in shock. "You clearly have _some_ cleverness about you."

"Uh," Atticus looks like he's stumbling for a reply. "Well, I thought what Chance was doing there was...pretty stupid, to be honest. Trying to take on a fourth year - and one who's apparently very good at duelling...?" It's a pretty tentative (and indirect) compliment, but I sense that praising her brother's skill is Atticus' attempt at an olive branch.

Suzette rolls her eyes and laughs lightly, and the tension begins to fade. "Very good at showing off, I think you mean. I had to listen to an hour-long retelling of a 'battle' he'd had last year - it turned out to be a two-minute scrap with some Gryffindor who'd insulted his hair."

"Sounds like how Lockhart'd react." I say, a little too loudly, given our proximity to the door. "Oops." I pause, considering whether or not I want to suggest this, then taking the plunge. "Uh... you two want to go and sit by the lake or something?"

For a second, there's silence. I'm on tenterhooks, wondering if that was too bold a move. I mean, it's only been a minute since they were yelling at each other… obviously neither of them feel too kindly about the other's House. I know this is kind of risky.

But, to my great surprise, Atticus looks to me, considers for a moment, and then nods.

Suzette rolls her eyes again. "Finally, something we can both agree on!" She announces with an emphasised shrug; a fluid, dancerly movement that would look petulant on most of us, but unfairly graceful on her slender figure. My eyes flit over to Atticus, who looks slightly taken aback. It's probably just because he's discovered that not all Slytherins are in fact Richardson clones...but, looking at his dazed expression, a little part of me wonders if he's noticed the cloud of undeniably prettiness that constantly hovers over Suzette's form.

"Good to go?" I step in before she has the chance to notice him staring. My question works - Atticus snaps out of his daze and back into the conversation.

"Yep!" He nods, and the three of us turn away from the hall, with a lack of Lockhart signalling we've managed to make a clean break - if he _did_ hear my little remark, I'm getting it in the next Defence class. The thought makes me shudder: Lockhart's punishments are always coloured with a distinctive pampering of the old ego - that's if the infamous detention handed out to Harry (sorting through fanmail) is dished out to all wrong-doers. I can only hope Chance hasn't managed to get himself killed by Suzette's brother - hopefully that last embarrassment will have convinced him to give up entirely.

Still, Chance's peril pales in comparison to what I think I've managed to orchestrate in my lake suggestion - my Slytherin and Gryffindor friends, hanging out in close proximity, without strangling each other. Even Hermione, my ingenious sister, hasn't figured that out yet. Although I should probably give it more than two minutes before deeming my attempt a success.

"What _was_ Lockhart's teaching there, anyway?" I ask, assuming that mutual dislike is probably a good place to start. "The only thing he showed us is how to let ourselves get disarmed!"

"And knocked down, don't forget knocked down," Suzette says slyly. "I'm sure that comes in really useful when he's battling evil and saving villagers and all…"

"D'you think he actually did any of that?" I ask slowly. Our teacher's supposed heroism seems very suspicious given his evident lack of skill.

"What, you think he made it all up?" Atticus frowns.

"I don't know. Seems a bit strange that he barely knows how to hold a wand the right way up, though."

"I will say, his Defence lessons haven't been too impressive. He just reads us bits from his books. And they're not even that good."

Suzette groans. "I'll be elderly before I've heard the end of _Wallowing with Werewolves_ or whatever it's called…"

We emerge from the castle, immediately hit by the shock of cold air. I turn my face to the cotton-coloured sky and see a mass of soft white flakes slowly drifting downwards. It's beautiful, other-worldly, turning the grounds into a fairytale setting.

"Snow!" I announce, breaking into a smile. You'd think after three months of actual magic, snowfall might seem mundane, but as a city kid the wonder of it is never lost on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Suzette grin at my childlike delight.

We settle by the lake, which is glazed with a thin coating of pearly ice. The skeletal trees are silvered, their clawed branches glistening softly.

"Definitely an improvement on the Duelling Club," Suzette says, surveying the picturesque scene and blinking snowflakes off her long lashes.

"Pretty flimsy idea, anyway." I shrug. "It's not like Slytherin's monster can duel."

Atticus gives me a stern look. "We do need to know how to defend ourselves, though. Especially you, Diana."

I look to Suzette, expecting her to roll her eyes in unison with mine, but to my surprise she's looking at me with a similarly teacherly expression. "Well, you _do_ need to be on your guard."

"What are you two, my parents?!" I scoff.

"Defensive magic is really important!" Atticus says earnestly, but I notice that his face is once again slightly flushed.

"Well, we can practice some of our own!" I declare, getting to my feet. "Who needs Lockhart?!"

Suzette looks kind of reluctant - I'm guessing anything that involves work was not part of her plan - but she stands all the same, delicately brushing snow off her robes. Atticus is already upright, wand at the ready, eager. I could've guessed that duelling would be one of those typically Gryffindor things he'd be all up for.

"The Disarming Charm?" I suggest, pointing my wand at the school. "That's what they're doing in there."

My companions nod, taking on expressions of concentration and muttering the incantation. I hastily do the same, trying to focus all my attention on my wand and not on my attempt to balance people from two houses that are fraught with enmity. It's something of a challenge.

My first attempt at Disarming Atticus yields nothing but a slight twitch of his wand, and Suzette is similarly unsuccessful, but he Disarms both of us on his first try and performs consistently well afterwards.

"You're really good at this," I tell him, after stooping to retrieve my wand for the third time. "How'd you learn so fast?!"

"I was always really excited for Defence, you know, thought it'd be my favourite subject...Lockhart's lessons have been kind of a let-down, but I studied the theory anyway, so I'd have more chance at actually performing some of the spells. Your sister helped me, actually!"

"She did?!"

"Yep. Definitely a better teacher than Lockhart!" He nods.

"Faint praise," I grin, wiping snow off my wand.

On my third try, my Disarming Charm is successful - Suzette's wand flies out her grasp. I can't resist punching the air with satisfaction, and they both give me a little round of applause before going back to practising. After five tries, though, my Slytherin friend is having less luck.

"I can't get it," Suzette says, with an edge of frustration in her voice. _"Expelliarmus_?" She flicks her wand, but my own stays stubbornly in my grip.

Atticus pauses, as if steeling himself for some major challenge, then he steps forward. "It's your wand movement," he says tentatively. "You need to be quicker, smoother. Sort of - more like this?"

He aims at my wand, shouts _"Expelliarmus!"_ and whips his wand in a circular motion. As if tugged on by an invisible string, my own wand escapes my clutches and flies through the air, landing in a snowdrift twenty yards away.

After three more tries with the improved movement, it looks like Suzette has The Disarming Charm down. Although she's trying to mask it with her usual coolness, I can tell that she's pleased. "Not too bad," she says, twirling her wand idly. Then she looks to Atticus, the faintest hint of pink staining her light-brown cheeks. "Um, thanks for the help."

"No problem." He says, with a slightly stiff, but nonetheless genuine smile.

Fifteen minutes later, all three of us have successfully Disarmed each other a fair few times. I'm a little patchy (let's just say I'd still feel safer just hitting the wand out of someone's hand) and Suzette occasionally reverts back to her old motions, but I'm pretty pleased with how it's turned out. After retrieving my wand from the shrub it flew into after Suzette's last successful attempt I straighten my haphazard robes and nod back to the lake.

"Enough for today?" I ask.

"Definitely," Suzette says, collapsing straight back down onto the ground. Atticus follows.

"Well," he says, pocketing his wand. "It's something, isn't it? And who knows, Diana, the monster could be a sword-fighting menace, carrying its weapon in its mouth, and now you can successfully Disarm it!" He grins at me, but I'm lost in thought, deciding how to put my fears into words.

"The thing is...it isn't the monster that worries me." I say quietly. "It's the heir. They're the one with the real power."

Atticus' smile drops and he screws up his face in frustration. "I wish I knew who it _was_."

"My sister thinks it's Malfoy," I tell him bluntly, then decide to just go ahead and reveal everything. "And we-" I motion to Suzette and myself - "- we think it might be Richardson."

Atticus ponders this, nodding slowly. "Well, both of them make sense, I guess. I grew up hearing about Richardson's family. They've said some pretty awful things, and the attitude goes back generations. I wouldn't put anything past them. And Malfoy...well, he was definitely happy after Mrs Norris."

"Any more updates?" I ask Suzette. "Malfoy said anything at all?"

Suzette shakes her head. "I'm telling you, I'd bet a hundred Galleons it's not Malfoy."

"Hermione seemed so sure… and all that 'you'll be next' stuff…"

"Oh, he _agrees_ with what the heir's doing, don't get me wrong." She flicks her plait over her shoulder. "But I don't think it's him."

At the sound of my non-committal silence, Suzette leans forwards, her expression intent.

"Listen, Malfoy's the sort who brags if he shoves some first-year Gryffindor. There's no way that he wouldn't be boasting about it _constantly_ if he was the heir."

From the little I know of him, I have to admit that this sounds accurate, even if it lessens our leads. "And Richardson?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. He's certainly been very quiet… he could be planning something."

"I bet he is," Atticus says darkly. "He's probably sitting in his dorm with all his stupid fanclub, plotting something awful and underhand like a _typical_ Slyth-" he catches himself mid-sentence - too late. He looks to Suzette, flushing scarlet. "Oh - sorry - I didn't mean-"

But her expression is suddenly cold. "No, no," she says, in a voice of forced airiness. Fresh anxiety rises in my stomach - this doesn't bode well. "I'm sure you didn't mean anything at all." She suddenly stands. "Well, it's been fun, but I think I might go back now...join the rest of my House, do some _underhand plotting_ …" With that, she stalks off briskly.

"No - I didn't-" Atticus says helplessly. He looks genuinely crushed, furious with himself. All I can do is gape hopelessly as Suzette storms off through the snow. I cringe, bury my head in my hands. _It was all going so well…_ I think despairingly... _what an idiot, thinking that you could actually get a Slytherin and a Gryffindor to-_

_WHAM!_ I'm jolted out of this extremely unpleasant train of thought by the sound of a snowball hitting the back of Atticus' head, hard, followed by his yelp of surprise. I look through the gaps in my fingers and see him sitting, stunned, his treacle-coloured hair dripping with snow - behind him, Suzette is bent double, cackling so hard I think she might slip into hysteria.

"You actually thought I was- _ahaha_ \- you were actually fooled - oh, _Merlin_ -"

I'm pretty sure she's actually crying with mirth, and after a second, I laugh too, swamped by a glorious feeling of relief. Atticus lets a grin spread over his face, scoops up his own ball of snow and lobs it in her direction. The shock of the snowball seems to shake Suzette out of her fit of giggles; she emerges with the face of a woman ready for war. I ready myself for what promises to be an intense fight.

For ten minutes the three of us pelt each other with snowballs, shrieking and whooping at the cold, bellowing threats and declarations of victory through chattering teeth. It's a pretty even match, but after Suzette manages to tip half a freezer's worth of powdered snow down the back of my robes, I decide that I'd like to be warm at some point again this decade and concede defeat.

"OK, OK," I pant, holding my hands up. "I'm out."

Suzette pauses with another snowball raised threateningly. "You surrender?"

"Yep!" I nod. "You two fight it out."

She shrugs, turns and goes to hurl it at Atticus instead, but he takes advantage of her momentary inaction and beats her to the punch, pelting her with a series of snowballs. It's only stopped when she uses her newly-acquired Disarming skills to empty his hands of snow, sneak up behind him and shower him with a similar avalanche of powdered snow.

We emerge from the battle dripping wet and numb with cold but grinning all over. Atticus is smiling almost as broadly as he did at his Sorting, and for the first time in weeks, I could not give a damn about Spencer Richardson and his stupid little mind games. I'm happy.

Somehow, Suzette still looks radiant - the cold has given her cheeks a soft, rosy glow, and the flakes starring her braid glitter in the meagre light. My own hair is probably a damp rats' nest right now, but I couldn't care less - I have achieved the impossible. Lion met snake, and the worst thing thrown at either was a snowball.

"Hey, it's getting dark, you two." I say, noticing the suddenly angry sky and fast-increasing speed of the snowfall. "We'd better head back."

For a second, what looks like disappointment flits across Atticus' face. Then he nods. "You're right." He looks to Suzette. "Truce?"

She sticks her nose in the air in an expression of mock-snootiness. " _If_ you admit I won."

"Narrowly. Very, very narrowly." He concedes.

Suzette curtsies, smiling sardonically, then pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders. As we hurry up towards the castle, the rate of the snowfall increases further and further, until we're caught in a storm of furiously swirling white flakes. It looks like a full-on blizzard's coming.

Finally, we make it into the Entrance Hall, which is relatively quiet, with only a few people milling about. Most students are probably back in their common rooms, and even though I'm eager to see the warm Hufflepuff fireplace and mass of cosy armchairs, I don't really want the afternoon to end. Still, it's not like we can't do it again.

"See you in Herbology?" I say to Atticus. "And hang out tomorrow?" I add to Suzette.

Both smile and nod and affirm my suggestions, but afterwards there's an awkward pause. The two of them survey each other for a couple of seconds. Then Atticus breaks into one of his easy smiles, raking a hand through his curls. "Good effort, there. Maybe- maybe have a rematch, at some point?"

Suzette raises both eyebrows, a grin tugging at her rosebud lips. "Absolutely. I can't wait to destroy you again."

"That's what you think." He narrows his eyes, the smile still firmly in place. "See you soon?"

"See you soon!"

With that, Atticus and Suzette part ways, walking in exactly opposite directions towards their common rooms, towards their Houses. Before they turn, I notice that both are wearing almost-identical expressions - pink-tinged smiles of pleasant surprise.

The blizzard rages outside, blanketing the world in white, and I smile to myself as I hurry down the corridors towards the Hufflepuff common room.


	12. A Loss and a Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Weekly uploads are gonna be paused for Christmas and resume in the New Year. Hope you're enjoying this story so far. Happy Christmas everyone! :)

* * *

 

Sadly, when I reach the common room, my good mood all but crashes and burns. I can tell that something's wrong from the second I enter. The air is heavy with tension, everyone clustered into tight groups and filling the room with the low buzz of speculative muttering. A fair few people look up when I walk in; I can feel heat flooding my cheeks from the sight of so many eyes on me, but they all seem to flicker away after a couple of seconds, disinterested, pulled into far more enticing conversations.

I scan the room for the other first-years and find most of them sitting in a knot by the window. Blossom looks up and gives me a half-hearted smile as I make my way over. I can't help but notice that all of them look drawn, anxious, and that Greg seems to be the only one that isn't there. It looks like he's slipping back into old habits, but I'm too preoccupied to dwell on that now.

"What's going on?" I mutter, eager not to draw any attention to myself. "Everyone seems so tense…"

Blossom blinks. "What do you mean? You don't know what happened?"

"No? Was this at the Duelling Club? I sort of skived out before it ended."

"Well, you missed a show." Ruby says, slightly shakily.

"What happened?!"

Blossom inhales. "Well, Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape pulled up a pair to demonstrate the Shield Charm. So Harry Potter duelled that Malfoy boy from Slytherin... and he used _Serpensortia."_

"It conjures up a snake." Juliette explains, obviously noticing my blank expression.

"Right." I nod, wondering how they got from Disarming to spontaneously producing serpents in the short space of time we were gone.

"And then...and then Harry Potter - he _spoke_ to it." Blossom whispers.

"To - to the snake?" I ask, bemused.

"Yes - in Parceltongue. It's a language that only snakes can understand."

"And you can't learn it. It's just a skill that some people are born with." Kelvin Blair adds solemnly.

"Yeah, and the wizard most famous for it was Salazar Slytherin." Says Javier Ramos, another of the first-year boys, effectively answering the question on my tongue (" _What's so wrong with being able to talk to snakes?")_ "That's where Slytherin got its symbol."

Blossom fiddles with one of her coppery curls. "Anyway, he spoke Parceltongue at it, it was like he was in some sort of trance...and this snake, it was chasing- well, it was chasing after-"

"After my brother." Finishes Richard Finch-Fletchley, who's been uncharacteristically quiet until this point, a paleness overcoming his usually pink face.

"What?!" I gasp; a few people look round at the sound of my obvious shock. "Is he alright?!"

"Yes, he's alright. Just rather shaken up." Richard sighs, his eyes cast downwards at the floor, as if searching for answers among the worn fibres. "But I must say it's made me very anxious…"

At this point, Ernie Macmillan and a few other second-years tune into the conversation. "I'm rather worried too, Richard." He says. "Poor Justin actually let it slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born! And we all saw what happened with the snake...how serious it was...to be honest, it's a wonder it got this far before something odd happened."

"Not _all_ Parcelmouths are Dark, though, Ernie," adds a second-year girl with a long plait and a sceptical face, frowning slightly at her friend.

"Maybe not, Susan, but you saw what happened at the Duelling Club!" Ernie insists, eyes round. She shrugs sadly and pats him on the shoulder. "We need to warn everyone, in any case," Ernie continues, a little frantically. "Well, you lot all know, of course, but Hannah's in the greenhouses with Neville Longbottom - must remember to tell her tomorrow; remind me, Susan - and Justin's laying low-"

"Where _is_ Justin?" Asks Javier, cutting off Ernie's overwrought rambling in mid-stream.

"Upstairs." Richard says. "In his dormitory. Ernie said it would be wise for him to lay low…" he turns to his brother's friend. "And I do think you have a point."

"Thank you, Richard," Ernie nods in a somber sort of way. "I mean, if Potter _has_ marked him out as his next victim-"

"Hold on a second," I say. As uncomfortable as it makes me to cut in, I don't feel right listening to them completely condemn my sister's best friend. "We don't _know_ that it's Harry-"

"' _We don't know?'"_ Someone interrupts from behind us, in a tone of outrage. "He's a _Parcelmouth!"_ I turn around and see the fifth-year boy who suggested that Harry might be the heir of Slytherin after Mrs Norris was attacked. He looks vindicated - not to mention smug. I feel a prickle of irritation when I realise that he's obviously been listening in to the whole conversation. "I _told_ you!" He boasts to the common room at large, sticking his nose in the air. "I told you all after Filch's cat was Petrified!"

"Give it a rest, Dennie," pipes up Roderick Mallenry from behind us, sounding frayed. "You still can't be sure it was Potter."

"And _you_ just can't admit I'm right." Dennie sniffs.

"You don't need to sound so happy about it." Adds Minnie Mercury from across the room, with a definite edge of anger to her voice. "Who cares if you were right? That's not going to help how Justin's feeling."

"Look, we've got the heir of Slytherin, right here under our noses! It's _obviously_ Potter!" Dennie insists, to a chorus of mumbling. With a slight twinge, I realise that it mostly sounds like assent.

For a second, I consider whether or not it's possible that Harry Potter could be the heir of Slytherin. While I've never heard of this Parceltongue, everyone seems convinced that it's Dark, dangerous…but I trust my sister's judgement. Even aside from all the familial loyalty, any idiot would have to recognise how intelligent Hermione is. True, I might think that she's blind to Lockhart's faults - but he's a celebrity, and (I have to begrudgingly admit) a good-looking one at that. I can't see her being conned by her best friend, someone she's with constantly and has never shown the slightest sign of being star-struck by.

And my own experience makes me uneasy branding someone as Dark just because of their connection - however, tenuous, in this case - to Slytherin house. Suzette has proven to me once and for all that an affinity for snakes does not make someone bad.

Still, looking over the common room of suspicious people, I can't quite find the words for any of it.

"I'm going upstairs." I mumble, grabbing my bag and heading up to the empty dormitory, where I flop down onto my four-poster, my head whirling.

I'm achingly sorry for Justin and Richard, and more than a little worried about what this might mean for me and my sister. I've started categorising people by blood status, without even noticing that I'm doing it, and she and I are obviously at risk.

I don't think that Harry Potter is the heir of Slytherin.

But I can easily think of a much more likely candidate, one who's been eerily quiet lately, one who's caused very little disturbance or commotion - almost like he's trying just a little too hard to blend in. And in the back of my mind is the fear that _this,_ the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, is Richardson's revenge. That in antagonising him I've brought down his insane wrath on all the school's Muggle-borns. That it's - partially, at least - my fault.

Outside, the snowstorm rages. I roll over on the bed and sigh into my pillow. I can hardly believe that it was less than an hour ago that I was outside, hurling snowballs at Suzette and Atticus and laughing through the cold without a care in the world.

* * *

The next day, the blizzard is so intense that Herbology is cancelled. Ordinarily I'd have been quite pleased to have an unexpected free period, but today it'd be a relief to escape the tension of the castle and tramp across the frozen grounds. Plus, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Atticus again after yesterday's Great Escape and picking his brains about Suzette - OK, bragging about how he didn't seem to find my evil Slytherin friend _too_ bad yesterday - but instead I spend an hour in the less-than-relaxing common room before setting off for Potions, where I manage to overboil my brew into a congealed lump, much to the delight of an especially malicious Snape. I'm just thinking that the day can't get much worse when we're hit by the news.

It can definitely get worse.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was found Petrified in a corridor on the fifth floor, along with the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. To make matters even worse, if that's possible, Harry Potter was "caught red-handed right by the scene of the attack, and swiftly taken to Dumbledore's office", as recounted by an irate and very puffy-eyed Ernie Macmillan. There's a sense of hysteria sweeping the whole school, especially at the news of Nearly Headless Nick's Petrification - surely something with so terrible a power that they can harm the _dead_ will eventually finish us all off, with no problem - but the Hufflepuffs are obviously consumed by Justin's attack. Richard's already been down to the hospital wing to see him and returned to the common room pale and subdued. I'm pretty certain that Blossom's crying into her Transfiguration textbook and is only trying to hide it (with limited success) for fear of upsetting him more.

I, along with all the other first-years and a fair few of the older kids, tell Richard over and over how sorry I am about what's happened, that Professor Sprout is growing the Mandrakes which'll be used in the Potion to return everyone to full health, but I don't know how much difference any of us are making. Watching Richard, I have a sudden desperation to go and find Hermione, hug her and tell her to be careful - I honestly think that I'd rather be Petrified myself than watch it happen to my sister and have to sit by, paralysed in a completely different way.

Meanwhile, Ernie MacMillan is slumped miserably in the corner, Susan Bones' arm slung around his shoulder so he can crumple himself against her side. The fifth-year who first suspected Harry, Dennie Khise, sits with a permanently smug expression (I'm genuinely concerned that Roderick might throw something worse than glares at the back of his head at this rate).

After an hour of this, I decide that I can't stand to be in the common room for much longer, so I relocate to the library, hoping to find Hermione there. Sadly, there's no sign of her, and I find myself way too distracted to work. Plus, without Hermione's help the chances of my completing one of Snape's notoriously difficult essays are about as high as a spontaneous party breaking out in the Hufflepuff common room right now. I don't know where my sister is, but I assume that she's in the girls' bathroom where I know they're brewing the Polyjuice Potion. Inwardly, I will it to work faster, to bring us answers.

After whiling away another hour in the library, doodling a series of unconvincing Slovakian Sunbeams, I realise I'm too restless to be in any way productive, but I still don't want to head back to the common room. I wander around the castle slightly aimlessly, hoping that I might chance upon Suzette or Atticus, though as I have no plans to meet either of them today the chances are slim.

Finally, I settle on a large windowsill. The corridor is more or less deserted, apart from a knot of fourth-years a little way down, who are gathered around a window, watching the snowstorm outside. For a second I too watch the blizzard, furiously spitting snow over the grounds, then I dig _Fire and Fang_ out of my bag and settle down to read. As always, it raises my spirits in a way that little else can - I'm near the end now, but I have plans to reread it and look into the breeds in more detail. I suddenly remember my promise to bring it down to Hagrid's and make a mental note to make sure I do when I'm finished. After half an hour of quiet reading, I'm beginning to feel relaxed, despite the hard windowsill (I should have nabbed one of the common room's cushions) and drafty corridor. The fourth-years are chatting among themselves and ignoring me completely, so it makes me jump when I'm suddenly addressed.

"Hey." I look up - and barely manage to conceal my surprise. It's Chance. He doesn't tend to seek me out, or vice versa, for obvious reasons. "I've been looking for you. I need to talk to you."

Ignoring the fact that he's one of the last people I feel like speaking to right now, I snap my book closed and get to my feet. "What's up?"

"It's about your.. _.friend_." He says, in the tone most people use to talk about Death Eaters. Funnily enough, I'm pretty sure I know exactly which friend he's talking about.

"Suzette?" I ask, my voice wary.

"I think she's up to something." He says bluntly, nodding as if he's confident he's right. Already my heckles are rising - I don't think he's said two words to Suzette, and I'm sure that whatever theory he's going to come out with is going to be utterly ridiculous.

"Why?" I ask, equally roughly.

He sighs very heavily and fixes me with a teacherly look. "What's her house, Diana?"

His insanely condescending tone only annoys me further. "We both know what her house is." I snap. "What's your point?"

"My _point,_ Diana," he says, infuriatingly slowly. "Is that she's from the house of Salazar Slytherin, who, if you've forgotten, is the one who _built_ the Chamber of Secrets! The one whose heir is Petrifying Muggle-borns!" He gives me a triumphant look.

"What are you _talking_ about?" I ask incredulously. "You have absolutely no evidence she's done anything wrong except the colour of her tie!"

"Oh, yes I do! I have near _proof!_ "

"Oh, yeah?"

"Don't you think it's a bit suspicious that there were no attacks at all - then _she_ starts hanging around you and then, all of a sudden - the first attack!"

If he thought this would convince me, he's so sorely mistaken it's amusing. "Almost two months went by between when she started 'hanging around me' and the first attack!"

"Yeah, the perfect amount of time to plan it!" He shoots back.

"How would _you_ know how long it takes to plan an attack?"

"I wouldn't! Why don't you ask your Slytherin friend, I'm sure _she'll_ have the answer!"

I open my mouth to retort, but before I can say anything - like tell him what a pig-headed idiot he is, for example - Atticus enters the corridor and stops suddenly, taking in the stances and expressions that very clearly state we're fighting.

"Uh...what's wrong, guys?" He asks, trying to keep his tone light but failing to keep a note of apprehension out of it.

I spin on my heels to face him, cross my arms. "Why don't you ask your friend?!" I suggest acidly. "Careful, though, he might randomly accuse you of attacking people!"

Atticus looks thoroughly confused. "Chance, what-?"

"Honestly, Atticus, she doesn't know what she's talking about!" He blusters. "I am _not_ accusing anyone 'randomly.'" He gestures heavily emphasised air quotes, then draws himself up proudly. "I think I have a lead on the heir of Slytherin!"

"What?!" Atticus gasps, clearly intrigued. "Who? Who d'you think it is?"

"That Slytherin girl!"

Atticus blinks, his face falling. "...Huh?"

"Suzette." I translate, raising my eyebrows.

"Yeah, _her."_ Chance turns to Atticus. "Listen, it all makes sense. Think about it - no attacks - then she starts hanging around - all of a sudden, the Chamber of Secrets is open!"

I actually thump my forehead with my fist.

Atticus leans against the wall in a pretty forced attempt at casualness. "But, Chance…" he says slowly. "There are tons of people who could've opened the Chamber… tons of people who've actually insulted Muggle-borns..."

"But how many of _them_ are hanging around Hufflepuffs?" Chance demands. "She's clearly spying!"

"That's beyond stupid." I tell him, well past caring if I'm being rude.

He rounds on me. "Look, I wouldn't expect you to understand, Diana, but when you've grown up in the wizarding world you get to know a few things-"

"Oh what, so I'm clueless just because I'm Muggle-born?" I interrupt hotly.

"Well- look," he stutters, his colour deepening to something close to maroon. "You _must_ be clueless if you're hanging around a Slytherin and you don't think it's suspicious _at all!"_ He looks to Atticus for support. "Tell her I'm right!"

Atticus looks pained. "Chance - I don't really-"

"I _am_ right, and you're just too stupid to see what's right in front of you!" Chance bellows at me, cutting straight over Atticus. "She's probably in the Slytherin common room with Richardson and that lot now, probably- probably _calling you a Mudblood_ as we speak!"

"Hey!" Atticus snaps.

He's sprung upright, fists clenched by his sides. I'm so surprised that I forget to retort to Chance. He himself looks equally gobsmacked.

"That - that is _too far,_ Chance!" Atticus rages, his face unusually grave.

Chance gawps like a goldfish. "You- you what?"

"You heard me!"

"But- but-"

" _No_ , Chance!" He shouts. "I can't believe you'd say something like that!"

The red-faced boy is still stumbling for a reply, slack-jawed and stunned. "But - Atticus - _you_ always agreed that Slytherins were bad as well!"

"Well, I was wrong!" Atticus says, then pauses for a second as if considering saying something and then taking the plunge. "Look, Chance - I've hung out with her as well. We snuck out during the Duelling Club after you tried to take on her brother."

" _What?!"_ Chance demands, his mouth hanging open. "You never told me-"

"Because I knew how you'd react!" Atticus sighs, raking a hand through his hair frustratedly. "Look, obviously I still can't stand Richardson. Or Malfoy, or any of that lot. But we were wrong to think they're all that bad. They're not - she's not. She wouldn't ever call someone a _you-know-what_...and maybe you shouldn't accuse someone when you don't know them at all."

For a second, I wonder if he's got through to Chance - but then his blank face is suddenly swept by a dark, brooding expression. "I can't believe _she's_ tricked you." He growls. "I can't believe you've- you've actually been fooled!"

"No one's tricked me!" Atticus snaps, firing up again. "You just can't admit that you _might_ be wrong! Which, by the way, you are!"

"But- well-" Chance stutters, clearly lost for any coherent comeback. He throws me one final furious glare and turns on his heel and storms off, huffing loudly. I watch him go, still slightly shell-shocked, then slowly turn to Atticus.

"Um…" I begin, completely unsure of what to say. _What_ do _I say to that?!_ I think wildly. Suddenly, his blue eyes snap onto mine.

"He's wrong," Atticus announces shortly. "There's no way she's the heir."

"Hey, you don't need to convince me." I say, with just the smallest hint of a smile.

"I _know_ he's wrong." He says, like he hasn't quite heard me. And with that, he too strides up out the corridor and disappears. The fourth-years break into excited chattering - they've got ten minutes' worth of free entertainment out of that.

I lean back onto the windowsill, exhaling slowly. After such a terrible day - my chest aches at just the thought of returning to the common room and my dejected house-mates - seeing Atticus defend Suzette was definitely a much-needed pick-me-up. And, I think slightly guiltily, watching him put Chance in his place wasn't half bad either.

**A/N: Just realised how close we are to Christmas! Weekly uploads are gonna be paused for the holidays and resume in the New Year. Hope you're enjoying this story so far, thanks so much for the favourites, follows and reviews. Happy Christmas everyone! :)**

* * *

Sadly, when I reach the common room, my good mood all but crashes and burns. I can tell that something's wrong from the second I enter. The air is heavy with tension, everyone clustered into tight groups and filling the room with the low buzz of speculative muttering. A fair few people look up when I walk in; I can feel heat flooding my cheeks from the sight of so many eyes on me, but they all seem to flicker away after a couple of seconds, disinterested, pulled into far more enticing conversations.

I scan the room for the other first-years and find most of them sitting in a knot by the window. Blossom looks up and gives me a half-hearted smile as I make my way over. I can't help but notice that all of them look drawn, anxious, and that Greg seems to be the only one that isn't there. It looks like he's slipping back into old habits, but I'm too preoccupied to dwell on that now.

"What's going on?" I mutter, eager not to draw any attention to myself. "Everyone seems so tense…"

Blossom blinks. "What do you mean? You don't know what happened?"

"No? Was this at the Duelling Club? I sort of skived out before it ended."

"Well, you missed a show." Ruby says, slightly shakily.

"What happened?!"

Blossom inhales. "Well, Professor Lockhart and Professor Snape pulled up a pair to demonstrate the Shield Charm. So Harry Potter duelled that Malfoy boy from Slytherin... and he used _Serpensortia."_

"It conjures up a snake." Juliette explains, obviously noticing my blank expression.

"Right." I nod, wondering how they got from Disarming to spontaneously producing serpents in the short space of time we were gone.

"And then...and then Harry Potter - he _spoke_ to it." Blossom whispers.

"To - to the snake?" I ask, bemused.

"Yes - in Parceltongue. It's a language that only snakes can understand."

"And you can't learn it. It's just a skill that some people are born with." Kelvin Blair adds solemnly.

"Yeah, and the wizard most famous for it was Salazar Slytherin." Says Javier Ramos, another of the first-year boys, effectively answering the question on my tongue (" _What's so wrong with being able to talk to snakes?")_ "That's where Slytherin got its symbol."

Blossom fiddles with one of her coppery curls. "Anyway, he spoke Parceltongue at it, it was like he was in some sort of trance...and this snake, it was chasing- well, it was chasing after-"

"After my brother." Finishes Richard Finch-Fletchley, who's been uncharacteristically quiet until this point, a paleness overcoming his usually pink face.

"What?!" I gasp; a few people look round at the sound of my obvious shock. "Is he alright?!"

"Yes, he's alright. Just rather shaken up." Richard sighs, his eyes cast downwards at the floor, as if searching for answers among the worn fibres. "But I must say it's made me very anxious…"

At this point, Ernie Macmillan and a few other second-years tune into the conversation. "I'm rather worried too, Richard." He says. "Poor Justin actually let it slip to Potter that he was Muggle-born! And we all saw what happened with the snake...how serious it was...to be honest, it's a wonder it got this far before something odd happened."

"Not _all_ Parcelmouths are Dark, though, Ernie," adds a second-year girl with a long plait and a sceptical face, frowning slightly at her friend.

"Maybe not, Susan, but you saw what happened at the Duelling Club!" Ernie insists, eyes round. She shrugs sadly and pats him on the shoulder. "We need to warn everyone, in any case," Ernie continues, a little frantically. "Well, you lot all know, of course, but Hannah's in the greenhouses with Neville Longbottom - must remember to tell her tomorrow; remind me, Susan - and Justin's laying low-"

"Where _is_ Justin?" Asks Javier, cutting off Ernie's overwrought rambling in mid-stream.

"Upstairs." Richard says. "In his dormitory. Ernie said it would be wise for him to lay low…" he turns to his brother's friend. "And I do think you have a point."

"Thank you, Richard," Ernie nods in a somber sort of way. "I mean, if Potter _has_ marked him out as his next victim-"

"Hold on a second," I say. As uncomfortable as it makes me to cut in, I don't feel right listening to them completely condemn my sister's best friend. "We don't _know_ that it's Harry-"

"' _We don't know?'"_ Someone interrupts from behind us, in a tone of outrage. "He's a _Parcelmouth!"_ I turn around and see the fifth-year boy who suggested that Harry might be the heir of Slytherin after Mrs Norris was attacked. He looks vindicated - not to mention smug. I feel a prickle of irritation when I realise that he's obviously been listening in to the whole conversation. "I _told_ you!" He boasts to the common room at large, sticking his nose in the air. "I told you all after Filch's cat was Petrified!"

"Give it a rest, Dennie," pipes up Roderick Mallenry from behind us, sounding frayed. "You still can't be sure it was Potter."

"And _you_ just can't admit I'm right." Dennie sniffs.

"You don't need to sound so happy about it." Adds Minnie Mercury from across the room, with a definite edge of anger to her voice. "Who cares if you were right? That's not going to help how Justin's feeling."

"Look, we've got the heir of Slytherin, right here under our noses! It's _obviously_ Potter!" Dennie insists, to a chorus of mumbling. With a slight twinge, I realise that it mostly sounds like assent.

For a second, I consider whether or not it's possible that Harry Potter could be the heir of Slytherin. While I've never heard of this Parceltongue, everyone seems convinced that it's Dark, dangerous…but I trust my sister's judgement. Even aside from all the familial loyalty, any idiot would have to recognise how intelligent Hermione is. True, I might think that she's blind to Lockhart's faults - but he's a celebrity, and (I have to begrudgingly admit) a good-looking one at that. I can't see her being conned by her best friend, someone she's with constantly and has never shown the slightest sign of being star-struck by.

And my own experience makes me uneasy branding someone as Dark just because of their connection - however, tenuous, in this case - to Slytherin house. Suzette has proven to me once and for all that an affinity for snakes does not make someone bad.

Still, looking over the common room of suspicious people, I can't quite find the words for any of it.

"I'm going upstairs." I mumble, grabbing my bag and heading up to the empty dormitory, where I flop down onto my four-poster, my head whirling.

I'm achingly sorry for Justin and Richard, and more than a little worried about what this might mean for me and my sister. I've started categorising people by blood status, without even noticing that I'm doing it, and she and I are obviously at risk.

I don't think that Harry Potter is the heir of Slytherin.

But I can easily think of a much more likely candidate, one who's been eerily quiet lately, one who's caused very little disturbance or commotion - almost like he's trying just a little too hard to blend in. And in the back of my mind is the fear that _this,_ the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, is Richardson's revenge. That in antagonising him I've brought down his insane wrath on all the school's Muggle-borns. That it's - partially, at least - my fault.

Outside, the snowstorm rages. I roll over on the bed and sigh into my pillow. I can hardly believe that it was less than an hour ago that I was outside, hurling snowballs at Suzette and Atticus and laughing through the cold without a care in the world.

* * *

The next day, the blizzard is so intense that Herbology is cancelled. Ordinarily I'd have been quite pleased to have an unexpected free period, but today it'd be a relief to escape the tension of the castle and tramp across the frozen grounds. Plus, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Atticus again after yesterday's Great Escape and picking his brains about Suzette - OK, bragging about how he didn't seem to find my evil Slytherin friend _too_ bad yesterday - but instead I spend an hour in the less-than-relaxing common room before setting off for Potions, where I manage to overboil my brew into a congealed lump, much to the delight of an especially malicious Snape. I'm just thinking that the day can't get much worse when we're hit by the news.

It can definitely get worse.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was found Petrified in a corridor on the fifth floor, along with the Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick. To make matters even worse, if that's possible, Harry Potter was "caught red-handed right by the scene of the attack, and swiftly taken to Dumbledore's office", as recounted by an irate and very puffy-eyed Ernie Macmillan. There's a sense of hysteria sweeping the whole school, especially at the news of Nearly Headless Nick's Petrification - surely something with so terrible a power that they can harm the _dead_ will eventually finish us all off, with no problem - but the Hufflepuffs are obviously consumed by Justin's attack. Richard's already been down to the hospital wing to see him and returned to the common room pale and subdued. I'm pretty certain that Blossom's crying into her Transfiguration textbook and is only trying to hide it (with limited success) for fear of upsetting him more.

I, along with all the other first-years and a fair few of the older kids, tell Richard over and over how sorry I am about what's happened, that Professor Sprout is growing the Mandrakes which'll be used in the Potion to return everyone to full health, but I don't know how much difference any of us are making. Watching Richard, I have a sudden desperation to go and find Hermione, hug her and tell her to be careful - I honestly think that I'd rather be Petrified myself than watch it happen to my sister and have to sit by, paralysed in a completely different way.

Meanwhile, Ernie MacMillan is slumped miserably in the corner, Susan Bones' arm slung around his shoulder so he can crumple himself against her side. The fifth-year who first suspected Harry, Dennie Khise, sits with a permanently smug expression (I'm genuinely concerned that Roderick might throw something worse than glares at the back of his head at this rate).

After an hour of this, I decide that I can't stand to be in the common room for much longer, so I relocate to the library, hoping to find Hermione there. Sadly, there's no sign of her, and I find myself way too distracted to work. Plus, without Hermione's help the chances of my completing one of Snape's notoriously difficult essays are about as high as a spontaneous party breaking out in the Hufflepuff common room right now. I don't know where my sister is, but I assume that she's in the girls' bathroom where I know they're brewing the Polyjuice Potion. Inwardly, I will it to work faster, to bring us answers.

After whiling away another hour in the library, doodling a series of unconvincing Slovakian Sunbeams, I realise I'm too restless to be in any way productive, but I still don't want to head back to the common room. I wander around the castle slightly aimlessly, hoping that I might chance upon Suzette or Atticus, though as I have no plans to meet either of them today the chances are slim.

Finally, I settle on a large windowsill. The corridor is more or less deserted, apart from a knot of fourth-years a little way down, who are gathered around a window, watching the snowstorm outside. For a second I too watch the blizzard, furiously spitting snow over the grounds, then I dig _Fire and Fang_ out of my bag and settle down to read. As always, it raises my spirits in a way that little else can - I'm near the end now, but I have plans to reread it and look into the breeds in more detail. I suddenly remember my promise to bring it down to Hagrid's and make a mental note to make sure I do when I'm finished. After half an hour of quiet reading, I'm beginning to feel relaxed, despite the hard windowsill (I should have nabbed one of the common room's cushions) and drafty corridor. The fourth-years are chatting among themselves and ignoring me completely, so it makes me jump when I'm suddenly addressed.

"Hey." I look up - and barely manage to conceal my surprise. It's Chance. He doesn't tend to seek me out, or vice versa, for obvious reasons. "I've been looking for you. I need to talk to you."

Ignoring the fact that he's one of the last people I feel like speaking to right now, I snap my book closed and get to my feet. "What's up?"

"It's about your.. _.friend_." He says, in the tone most people use to talk about Death Eaters. Funnily enough, I'm pretty sure I know exactly which friend he's talking about.

"Suzette?" I ask, my voice wary.

"I think she's up to something." He says bluntly, nodding as if he's confident he's right. Already my heckles are rising - I don't think he's said two words to Suzette, and I'm sure that whatever theory he's going to come out with is going to be utterly ridiculous.

"Why?" I ask, equally roughly.

He sighs very heavily and fixes me with a teacherly look. "What's her house, Diana?"

His insanely condescending tone only annoys me further. "We both know what her house is." I snap. "What's your point?"

"My _point,_ Diana," he says, infuriatingly slowly. "Is that she's from the house of Salazar Slytherin, who, if you've forgotten, is the one who _built_ the Chamber of Secrets! The one whose heir is Petrifying Muggle-borns!" He gives me a triumphant look.

"What are you _talking_ about?" I ask incredulously. "You have absolutely no evidence she's done anything wrong except the colour of her tie!"

"Oh, yes I do! I have near _proof!_ "

"Oh, yeah?"

"Don't you think it's a bit suspicious that there were no attacks at all - then _she_ starts hanging around you and then, all of a sudden - the first attack!"

If he thought this would convince me, he's so sorely mistaken it's amusing. "Almost two months went by between when she started 'hanging around me' and the first attack!"

"Yeah, the perfect amount of time to plan it!" He shoots back.

"How would _you_ know how long it takes to plan an attack?"

"I wouldn't! Why don't you ask your Slytherin friend, I'm sure _she'll_ have the answer!"

I open my mouth to retort, but before I can say anything - like tell him what a pig-headed idiot he is, for example - Atticus enters the corridor and stops suddenly, taking in the stances and expressions that very clearly state we're fighting.

"Uh...what's wrong, guys?" He asks, trying to keep his tone light but failing to keep a note of apprehension out of it.

I spin on my heels to face him, cross my arms. "Why don't you ask your friend?!" I suggest acidly. "Careful, though, he might randomly accuse you of attacking people!"

Atticus looks thoroughly confused. "Chance, what-?"

"Honestly, Atticus, she doesn't know what she's talking about!" He blusters. "I am _not_ accusing anyone 'randomly.'" He gestures heavily emphasised air quotes, then draws himself up proudly. "I think I have a lead on the heir of Slytherin!"

"What?!" Atticus gasps, clearly intrigued. "Who? Who d'you think it is?"

"That Slytherin girl!"

Atticus blinks, his face falling. "...Huh?"

"Suzette." I translate, raising my eyebrows.

"Yeah, _her."_ Chance turns to Atticus. "Listen, it all makes sense. Think about it - no attacks - then she starts hanging around - all of a sudden, the Chamber of Secrets is open!"

I actually thump my forehead with my fist.

Atticus leans against the wall in a pretty forced attempt at casualness. "But, Chance…" he says slowly. "There are tons of people who could've opened the Chamber… tons of people who've actually insulted Muggle-borns..."

"But how many of _them_ are hanging around Hufflepuffs?" Chance demands. "She's clearly spying!"

"That's beyond stupid." I tell him, well past caring if I'm being rude.

He rounds on me. "Look, I wouldn't expect you to understand, Diana, but when you've grown up in the wizarding world you get to know a few things-"

"Oh what, so I'm clueless just because I'm Muggle-born?" I interrupt hotly.

"Well- look," he stutters, his colour deepening to something close to maroon. "You _must_ be clueless if you're hanging around a Slytherin and you don't think it's suspicious _at all!"_ He looks to Atticus for support. "Tell her I'm right!"

Atticus looks pained. "Chance - I don't really-"

"I _am_ right, and you're just too stupid to see what's right in front of you!" Chance bellows at me, cutting straight over Atticus. "She's probably in the Slytherin common room with Richardson and that lot now, probably- probably _calling you a Mudblood_ as we speak!"

"Hey!" Atticus snaps.

He's sprung upright, fists clenched by his sides. I'm so surprised that I forget to retort to Chance. He himself looks equally gobsmacked.

"That - that is _too far,_ Chance!" Atticus rages, his face unusually grave.

Chance gawps like a goldfish. "You- you what?"

"You heard me!"

"But- but-"

" _No_ , Chance!" He shouts. "I can't believe you'd say something like that!"

The red-faced boy is still stumbling for a reply, slack-jawed and stunned. "But - Atticus - _you_ always agreed that Slytherins were bad as well!"

"Well, I was wrong!" Atticus says, then pauses for a second as if considering saying something and then taking the plunge. "Look, Chance - I've hung out with her as well. We snuck out during the Duelling Club after you tried to take on her brother."

" _What?!"_ Chance demands, his mouth hanging open. "You never told me-"

"Because I knew how you'd react!" Atticus sighs, raking a hand through his hair frustratedly. "Look, obviously I still can't stand Richardson. Or Malfoy, or any of that lot. But we were wrong to think they're all that bad. They're not - she's not. She wouldn't ever call someone a _you-know-what_...and maybe you shouldn't accuse someone when you don't know them at all."

For a second, I wonder if he's got through to Chance - but then his blank face is suddenly swept by a dark, brooding expression. "I can't believe _she's_ tricked you." He growls. "I can't believe you've- you've actually been fooled!"

"No one's tricked me!" Atticus snaps, firing up again. "You just can't admit that you _might_ be wrong! Which, by the way, you are!"

"But- well-" Chance stutters, clearly lost for any coherent comeback. He throws me one final furious glare and turns on his heel and storms off, huffing loudly. I watch him go, still slightly shell-shocked, then slowly turn to Atticus.

"Um…" I begin, completely unsure of what to say. _What_ do _I say to that?!_ I think wildly. Suddenly, his blue eyes snap onto mine.

"He's wrong," Atticus announces shortly. "There's no way she's the heir."

"Hey, you don't need to convince me." I say, with just the smallest hint of a smile.

"I _know_ he's wrong." He says, like he hasn't quite heard me. And with that, he too strides up out the corridor and disappears. The fourth-years break into excited chattering - they've got ten minutes' worth of free entertainment out of that.

I lean back onto the windowsill, exhaling slowly. After such a terrible day - my chest aches at just the thought of returning to the common room and my dejected house-mates - seeing Atticus defend Suzette was definitely a much-needed pick-me-up. And, I think slightly guiltily, watching him put Chance in his place wasn't half bad either.


	13. Deck the Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! Hope you all had a great Christmas. Weekly uploads to this fic are back on!

* * *

We're fast approaching Christmas now. The raging blizzard has settled down, leaving the grounds muffled by a thick white blanket and the great lake glazed with ice. I've had three snowball fight rematches with Suzette and Atticus and made a flock of snow angels with my dorm-mates. I've huddled in the common room with hot chocolate, received my first few knitting-by-magic lessons from Juliette, and pored over the last chapter of _Fire and Fang_ with Greg. I've just about got all my Christmas presents ready, but Suzette, disorganised as ever, tells me she's planning on skiving out of her last Potions lesson on Wednesday to get hers ("Well, Snape's lessons doesn't exactly make me feel festive," she shrugs, grinning.) Things would be great - if it weren't for the fog of worry hanging over the castle, leeching at the oncoming excitement with the niggling fear of yet another Petrification.

Atticus and Chance have, officially, made up, but I get the feeling things aren't entirely resolved between them since their fight. There's an air of slight tension at our Herbology table, and I'm not all that sorry when Chance skives off the last couple of lessons. Less time around perpetually annoying Chance is always a relief, especially since I'm already carrying another load of frustration: Suzette's still coming up empty of answers in both her spying missions.

"Malfoy's been smug, but what's new?" She shrugs, when I ask if she's heard anything. "I still don't think he's our man."

"Anything from Richardson?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I can guess the answer.

"Not really. He's been quite quiet. I _did_ hear him tell Marks that something was 'none of his concern', but that's it."

"Well, he's probably hiding _something,_ then." I say, grasping - a little desperately - for any sort of lead.

Suzette looks sceptical. "Probably, but if he's not even telling Marks, he's hardly going to tell the whole common room, is he? I don't think I'm going to overhear anything important from Richardson."

As frustrated as I am by our lack of progress, I'm also distracted by a mission of my own. Hermione's decided to stay over at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, which has left me feeling still more drained of cheer.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to come home for Christmas?" I ask my sister for the dozenth time as we walk to the library after swapping presents (she got me a new eagle-feather quill and a pot of glossy Indian ink; I gave her my first relatively successful home-knitted jumper.)

"Yes, Diana." She nods, patience clearly wearing thin. "I'm sure."

"Christmas at home won't be the same without you." I wheedle.

"I know, and I'm really sorry to miss it. But I've told you, I _have_ to stay. Malfoy's here over Christmas, the Polyjuice Potion will be ready - it's too good an opportunity to miss!"

I know she's right. I suppose I have a slightly idealised image in my head of our whole family on Christmas Day, crammed around our table, stuffing ourselves with food and avoiding the sprouts that we always manage to boil into mush. Hermione came home for last year's holiday - this will be the first without her, and even though I know it's stupid, I'd like to put it off a few more years.

"It's just… Suzette says she hasn't heard anything that would make her think that Malfoy might be the heir of Slytherin."

Hermione suddenly fiddles with the latch on her bag. Somehow, I get the feeling that she's just trying to avoid my eyes. "Well...that's good to know. But I still think that we need to double-check with the Polyjuice Potion."

I stifle a sigh. I know that she still doesn't quite trust Suzette's word on this. I suppose, given her experience with Slytherin house, I can't really blame her - no matter how much I wish I could change her mind.

"I really am sorry I won't be there, you know that." Hermione says suddenly, her voice softening as she looks me in the eye. "But we've been brewing this for a month...we have to use it now, or it'll be a waste. We could be so close to catching him, Diana."

As always, her logic is rock-solid, and I have no chance of out-manoeuvring her. Still, I can't quite shake the disappointment - or the faint worry that drifts into my stomach at the thought of her here with Slytherin's monster - and possibly his heir - while I go home alone.

* * *

On Transfiguration on Wednesday, I'm making my fourth attempt at a Switching Spell when Professor McGonagall asks for a volunteer to deliver some papers for her. Eager to escape my continued lack of success, I'm the first to raise my hand.

"Thank you, Miss Granger." She says, passing me a scroll of parchment. "Try and be brief."

"Who am I delivering it to, Professor?" I ask.

"Professor Snape."

My heart sinks. Suddenly, failed Switching Spells seem quite appealing, but I can hardly back out now. Additri shoots me a 'good luck' look as I leave the classroom; I make my way down to the Potions dungeon with an increasing sense of foreboding.

The papers are almost slipping out of my sweat-slick hand as I clench a fist and knock on the slightly opened door. Well, at least I'm not going to make an idiot of myself fumbling about with the handle, that's some small blessing, I guess. Maybe word's got round about the overwhelming ineptitude of certain students?

"Come in." Professor Snape's voice calls and whatever chatter hadn't stopped when I knocked on the door dies the second I slip through the crack.

My stomach drops when I realise what I've walked into.

A Gryffindor and Slytherin Potions lesson. Terrifying in its own respects - I'm amazed there aren't bodies littering the floor and projectiles being fired from all corners, given the open warfare between the two houses - but worse still: a Gryffindor and Slytherin Potions lesson from my year group. I don't even dare look up properly as I know exactly whose eyes will be on me. The second I stepped through the doorway I felt a familiar pair of amber hooks clamp down on my shoulders.

"Um, Professor Sprout had some papers she wanted me to deliver, sir."

You'd need Godric Gryffindor's bloody sword to cut through the silence that's fallen. I have a horrible sinking feeling my name's already been echoed around all of Richardson's lot - not just for being the sister of Hermione Granger (school saviour and intrepid friend of Harry Potter), but for being 'that Muggle-born girl who talked back to our Serpentine Overlord Spencer Richardson, his Holiness'.

"Bring them here, then," Snape mutters, and I feel a wave of relief that he hasn't fuelled the fire more. Hermione mentioned having Potions first thing on a Wednesday, so maybe he's already got his fill of student humiliating with Harry as the starter, Ron as the dessert and poor Neville Longbottom as the main course?

He turns around and starts writing on the blackboard again with a dramatic whirl of black cloak (I bet Draco Malfoy practices before bed at night) and low chattering resumes as heads turn back toward books and quills begin to move - but I can still feel Richardson watching me. I know he's hoping I'll fall over or drop the papers onto the floor. With the amount of nervous energy I'm generating, he should really be banking on my spontaneous combustion.

I determinedly look anyway but his table. Refuge comes in the form of Atticus, who's sat at a desk just short of the back with a small cluster of boys I realise must all be Gryffindors as I spare a quick glance towards their ties. Well, if he had decided to sit with Richardson, I'd be up in flames in a millisecond.

Atticus grins when he catches my eye and I smile back slightly, feeling my anxiety relent a little when I realise I at least have one friend in the room who'd come to my defence if Richardson tried anything. Luckily, he's sat off too far to try tripping me up or anything, but that's discounting myself and my ability to fall over nothing. Determined not to look anywhere near Richardson, I look to Atticus' table again instead.

My brow furrows slightly as I scan the cluster of boys huddled around it. There's one with a wavy mane of dark blonde hair, less reddish than Atticus', instead with undertones of light brown whose figure is easily slouched, another boy with dark hair, a peachy face and strong jawline that I vaguely recognise, an empty seat that, I realise with a twinge, probably once belonged to Colin Creevey - but there's another, more unexpected, absence. _No Chance..._ my mind mutters and I'm caught between sympathy and satisfaction.

I scan the room to see where he is instead and settle on another table in the corner. A small, slightly hunched figure's sat away from the gathering of Gryffindor boys, and the glimpse of a cheek boiled as red as a lobster is the only tip-off I need.

An immediate stab of shock hits me in the chest. Sure, Chance has been obnoxious, judgmental and downright disrespectful towards not only me but my best friend (best friend?! I guess by now Suzette really might be my best friend!), just because she's in a house with a less than pristine reputation; but I'm taken aback that his house-mates seem to have rejected him. I mean, I wasn't exactly expecting Chance to be a popular Gryffindor by any stretch of the imagination - what with how charmingly he's made himself known to me over the past few months - but to see him sitting well away from the group is a bit of a shock. Part of me assumed his reverence for Gryffindor and his hero-worshipping of all of its values, beliefs and members would make him more popular. Apparently not.

Has he been rude and off-putting to them as well? I scan my memories. Usually I've seen Atticus hanging around the other boys when he hasn't been mixing with me and the others in our year (or my dreaded Slytherin, as certain people would probably say), but it's beginning to dawn on me Chance has almost entirely been absent from these gatherings, especially recently. I guess he and Atticus still haven't recovered from their fight. My exposure to Gryffindor has been embarrassingly limited - what with my own sister being one of its more high profile members, despite only being in second year - but has Chance really managed to even turn off his own housemates? Or has he isolated himself on purpose?

I don't if I should feel bad for him or not - I know he views me as some lowly traitor, befriending a pure-blood Slytherin of all people (if I have to internally say that one more time I think I'm going to roll my eyes so hard they'll get stuck staring at the back of my head) - but the need to finish my task and get out the room distracts me from any more moral questioning.

I'm pretty much acting on autopilot as I place the papers on the desk - incident free, I praise myself - and turn quickly after processing that Snape's showing no signs of turning back from the instructions he's still furiously scribbling on the board. An ache in my chest, though, is goading me into looking in the direction where I know Richardson's sitting, still smirking. In a moment of adrenaline, I'm suddenly sick of avoiding him, fearing him from afar, trying to found out what he's up to and coming up empty. I saw a flash of those wild black curls out the corner of my eye the moment I walked through the door and I'm desperately feeling a pull to do something. Make him think I'm not scared of him, that he can't intimidate me. That I don't give a damn about him or his pathetic views.

If I ignore him I'm going to come across as a total coward. I'll let him - and all his fawning lackeys - think they've managed to completely beat me down. 'Put me in my place' I'm sure they'd say. And I'm not allowing that. I've given Richardson enough ammunition to taunt me with - it's time to start fighting back. _How very Gryffindor of you_ , a small voice in my head laughs, _maybe you and Hermione have more in common than people give you credit for?_

Turning towards where I can feel the weight of amber eyes burning a hole into my temple, I see his whole table have turned in my direction. Great.

Marks is there (surprise, surprise), and he's flanked by two other people I vaguely recognise. A girl - short, maybe only about as tall as me, but significantly slimmer and sharper-edged, with perfectly lacquered treacle-coloured hair drawn into an immaculate ponytail, gleaming eyes the colour of artichokes, and a bored expression. Funny...in my encounters with Richardson's lot, I've never seen a girl with them before. And a boy - the really tall one, already broad shouldered - Hispanic like Javier from my house, only his hair's significantly less tangled and curly, and a dark brown instead of pure black, whose eyes occasionally flicker towards the girl before eyeing me up again.

Right. Mission commence.

Locking my eyes on Richardson's - something that pulls a small smirk at the edges of his lips (no way am I letting that flourish) - I take up the most impressive and polished of defensive stances and poke my tongue out quickly, feeling a flush of pride shoot up to my cheeks with my small declaration of war.

The smirk's immediately extinguished and for a second I think Marks is about to faint; his eyes widen like he can't quite comprehend what I've just done. To be honest, neither can I.

And Spencer Richardson looks like he's about to leap out of his chair and tackle me as I slip through the door back out into the hallway before anyone can react or rat me out to Snape, a smirk of my own beginning to form.

* * *

The day before we're set to leave I'm combing the Entrance Hall for the hat I dropped yesterday when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to find Atticus, smiling slightly nervously.

"Hey, Diana - can I talk to you for a second?" He asks.

"Sure," I say, momentarily abandoning my search. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to give you your Christmas present." He gives me a grin and a red-and-gold wrapped parcel.

"Aw, thanks a bunch, Attie," I take it gratefully, but I know that this can't be all he wanted to talk to me for or he wouldn't look so awkward. "Yours is upstairs in my dorm - I just need to wrap it."

He nods. "Thanks." I can't help but notice that he's fidgeting distractedly, as if psyching himself up to ask for something.

"Um...you alright?" I dig.

"Well, the thing is…" He dithers for a second. "Well, y'see, I got- I got Suzette something too. For Christmas, I mean."

"You did?!"

He flushes slightly. "Yeah. Well, it's not much - I was just getting yours and I thought I might as well… while I was there, y'know… but maybe it's a too much-?"

"No!" I cut in quickly, trying hard to hide my oncoming smile. "You should give it to her, it'd be nice."

"D'you think so?" He asks. "Well. Alright then."

He looks so awkward that I decide that I might as well open my present now to serve as a distraction. I tear away the paper and lift out a royal-blue woolen scarf, soft and fluffy. I smile and loop it around my neck immediately. "It's great! Thanks a lot!"

"You're welcome." He smiles. "Anyway, I'd better get back to packing. See you later?"

"Yep!" I nod, beginning to scan around for my hat.

"Oh, and thanks for the - er - advice." He adds quickly as he turns to walk away.

"No problem!" I call, smothering a grin as I resume my search.

The next twenty-four hours are a blur of hugs and goodbyes and present-swapping. I give my dorm-mates Chocolate Frogs and Christmas baubles, and Greg looks ready to burst with happiness when I present him with his very own copy of _Fire and Fang_ (he gives me a home-drawn Slovakian Sunbeam, which leaves me feeling quite touched, and very Christmassy indeed.) I give Atticus a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , and Suzette my second home-knitted jumper (slightly lopsided, but nice and comfy) and a bag of her favourite sugar quills. Just before we're all set to leave for the Hogwarts Express, I hug Hermione goodbye and wish her luck with the Polyjuice mission - she tells me not to worry, to enjoy Christmas, and promises to write to me.

After the mad rush of packing and presents, I'm finally standing on the platform at Hogsmeade Station, the wind tugging at my hazel frizz and sending goosebumps up my arms. The train's due to leave any minute, but I'm delaying the moment I actually step on board. I haven't spoken to Suzette since a very hurried conversation last night, and there's no sign of her amongst the students still milling about on the platform. I'm just about to call it quits and hope she finds me on the train when I hear my name being called.

"Diana!"

I turn around to see my friend racing towards me, in a slightly more ungainly fashion than her usual gazelle-like sprint. As she comes to a sudden halt in front of me, her olive skin flushed from the exertion, I can't help but notice that she's wearing a scarf that - apart from being in lilac rather than blue - looks very similar to the one that Atticus gave me yesterday, but I don't have time to ask about it.

"Oh good," she says, catching her breath. "I thought you might have already got on board and I'd have missed you."

"Wait, are you not getting the train back?" I frown.

"No - we're going to France for Christmas so me and my brothers are off to a friend of my mum's to use the Floo network."

"The- what?" I blink.

"No time now." She shrugs, thrusting a present into my hands. "This is for you - sorry about the rush, I wasn't too organised - I hope you like it!"

"Thanks, Suz!" I smile, taking the gift and reaching out to hug her quickly. As excited as I am to see my family, I'm really going to miss her. I can't believe I've only known her a term - I feel like we've been friends for years.

Behind us, the Hogwarts Express belches steam. "I'd better go." I say, disentangling myself. "I'll see you soon. Have a good time in France!"

"Happy Christmas, Diana!" She calls after me, waving wildly as I run towards the readying train.

* * *

I spend Christmas with my family. My first term at Hogwarts has been so action-packed - friends, enemies, and the Petrifications, to say the least - that I hadn't realised how much I'd missed my parents until I ran into their embrace at King's Cross. Suddenly, eleven felt quite young.

On the 25th, the entire Granger clan crams into our living room to open our (entirely Muggle) presents. Along with the normal assortment of stocking presents (tangerines, chocolate coins, socks), my parents present me with a few videos and a GameBoy, which I can't wait to bamboozle Suzette with ("So you press those little...buttons...and it does what you tell it? Never let it be said that Muggles aren't creative.")

In my living room, surrounded by family, the last few months seem to peel away. With my trunk stashed in the cupboard under the stairs, presents I unwrapped from Suzette - a cuddly badger (I can picture my best friend's smirk whenever I look at it) and silver charm bracelet - are some of my only reminders of where I've spent the past few months at all.

Afterwards we overdose on stuffing and gravy and lame cracker jokes, and I'm so full and contented that I can almost ignore the little twinge in my stomach when I look at the empty chair where Hermione normally sits.

On boxing day, we all sleep late. I'm halfway through my brand-new The Little Mermaid video when a snowy owl that I vaguely recognise taps on the window. I get to my feet hastily and undo the latch; the owl hops onto the sill and lifts its leg. It gives a grateful hoot as I ruffle its feathers softly with the one hand and detach the scroll with the other. I'm still stroking the owl absentmindedly as I unfurl the letter and, immediately recognising my sister's neat, curly handwriting, begin to read.

_Dear Diana,_

_Technically speaking I'm supposed to be on strict bed rest at the moment, but I can't see anything wrong with writing to you. I mean, at this rate they'll be saying I can't do any homework!_

_I'm in the hospital wing, but I'm alright. There was a little incident with the Polyjuice Potion. To give you the full story, I meant to use a hair from Millicent Bulstrode - she's a Slytherin in the year above me who I was paired with at the Duelling Club, and she was quite enthusiastic, to say the least - and I assumed a hair she left on my robes was one of hers. It turns out it wasn't - I suppose she must have a cat that shed on her uniform. The Polyjuice Potion isn't meant to be used for animal transformations, so, as I'm sure you can imagine, it didn't end too well for me. Still, there's no need to worry. Madam Pomfrey says I should be completely back to normal in about a month, and the tail has already started to shrink._

_More importantly, the Potion did work on Harry and Ron - excellently, if I do say so myself! They got into the Slytherin common room on Christmas Day and talked to Malfoy. I don't think he suspected a thing!_

_The really bad news is that they didn't find out anything about who the heir of Slytherin might be - except that it definitely isn't Malfoy. They brought up the Chamber of Secrets, of course, but he was very clear. He actually told them that he wished he knew who it was and wanted to help them, but he was completely in the dark. It seems as though your friend was right - we can be certain it isn't him. So all in all it was a bit of a waste of time, although I am rather pleased to have managed to brew a successful Polyjuice Potion!_

_I hope Christmas at home was really good. I did miss being there with you, and not just because I could have avoided drinking Essence of Whiskers._

_Give all my love to Mum and Dad!_

_I'll see you when the new term starts - hopefully I'll be a bit more human-looking by then!_

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione_


	14. The Idea

The first thing I do when I arrive back at Hogwarts after Christmas is visit my sister in the hospital wing. She seems pretty cheerful, given the state of her face (still a 2:1 cat-to-human ratio), as she fills me in on the Polyjuice attempt in more detail. After listening to her slightly hushed retelling (we're wary of Madam Pomfrey, who apparently thinks she attempted human Transfiguration with an incorrectly applied formula), I set off with the vague hope of bumping into Suzette.

A few hours later, there's still no sign of her, but I catch up with Juliette and Additri after meeting them on my way to the Hufflepuff dorms, along with Blossom and Ruby back in the common room. I spot Greg in the curled in the corner, engrossed in his copy of _Fire and Fang -_ he looks up and waves enthusiastically when I come in but doesn't join the knot of people. To be fair to him, I know how gripping that book can be. By mid-afternoon, all us first-years are crammed onto the sofas, swapping Christmas stories. Richard Finch-Fletchley is still a little quiet and withdrawn, but everyone else is animated, excited to be back. Additri tells us that she bamboozled her parents with tales of broomsticks and cauldrons, and Ruby regales us all with the story (with frequent protests and amendments from her brother) of how she smashed Roderick 140-50 in a game of two-a-side Quidditch.

As much as I'm enjoying being back and seeing my house-mates, I'm still itching to find Suzette and tell her the about the Polyjuice Potion update, so I slip away and scope out the castle for any sign of her. I come up empty-handed in the corridors and Entrance Hall, and I'm a little way across the grounds when I realise that she's probably just headed to her own common room already and turn back around, admitting defeat. I'm just climbing back up the grassy slope when I spot a lone figure ahead of me, wandering up the hill slowly. As I approach, I recognise the slender form and long dark braid of my best friend. A grin spreads over my face as I call her name and run up the steep hill towards her.

"Suzette!" I exclaim again, reaching her and pulling her into a hug. "I've been looking everywhere! I have really important news to tell you."

I expect her to excitedly demand answers, but she stays quiet. I step back, taking in her expression properly for the first time. She looks hassled, frayed - her grey-green eyes are clouded with irritation and something else that I can't quite pinpoint.

"Hey, you OK?" I ask, suddenly concerned.

She waves a hand. "I'm fine, don't worry. So what were you going to say?"

"Did something happen?" I press, ignoring her question.

"Oh, I ran into Richardson and Marks." She says, keeping her tone deliberately casual. "Or maybe I should say that they ran into me?"

My heart sinks. This can't be anything good. "What did they want?"

"They're still on at me about, y'know, being friends with you." She shuffles uncomfortably. "And let's just say that they weren't at all pleased that I've been _consorting with a Gryffindor_." As she says it, I notice her hand reaches to secure the lilac scarf she's still got loosely knotted around her throat.

"Who do they think they are, telling you who to hang around with?" I demand. "They're idiots, you know that."

"Oh, I know. I couldn't care less what they think." Suzette shrugs, then pauses. "It isn't them that bothered me, to be honest."

"What was it?" I frown.

She hesitates again. "Well - someone else agreed with them. Someone that - um, I guess I didn't expect to."

"Who was it?"

She bites her lip; I can't help but notice that this is about the most subdued I've ever seen her. "She's called TJ." Suzette says finally. "Well, Thyra-Jane, technically. We've been friends for ages - we grew up together, you know - and I suppose I thought that that would… I don't know, count for more."

I look down, at a loss for what to say. My previous excitement is ebbing down the drain. "I'm sorry," I say quietly, after a pause.

"It's not your fault, Diana."

"Well. No. But you only get this stuff because you're friends with me-"

"No, I get it because Richardson and his lot are fanatical control freaks." Suzette cuts in, in a tone so fierce I doubt even Chance would try and argue with her. "I don't want their approval. And if certain - others - are alright with selling out their friends just to join his fan-club then it's their problem. Anyway, what did you want to tell me?"

I pause for a moment, wondering if I should press her more on this, make sure she's OK - but there was a definite air of finality in the way she spoke. "Big Polyjuice news," I say, deciding to go with her sudden change of subject. "Want to sit?"

We settle on the grassy slope, retreating further into our cloaks from the chilly January wind. I fill her in on the Polyjuice mission - Hermione's botched transformation (she has the good grace not to laugh), Harry and Ron's infiltration of the common room, and the dead end they hit.

"So all we know is that Malfoy definitely isn't the heir," I finish.

"He actually said it outright?"

"Yep." I nod. "So...well, you know what this probably means."

"Richardson's not _just_ a fanatical control freak." Suzette says grimly. "He's likely the heir of Slytherin as well."

"Probably, yeah….It also means the Polyjuice Potion was kind of a waste of time." I sigh. "It looks like we're all hitting dead ends, doesn't it?"

"We need some good news, fast." Suzette agrees, giving me a half-smile as she gets to her feet.

* * *

The first week back passes in a daze of swapping Christmas stories and plunging back into lessons, and I'm so distracted that I barely have time to give a second thought to Richardson. There are no more attacks, which is always an unsung relief, and on Wednesday, after struggling through my Transfiguration homework, I finally finish _Fire and Fang._

"Feel like coming down to Hagrid's with me at the weekend?" I ask Suzette in Charms later on. "I promised that I'd show him my dragon book when I finished it."

"Sure," she shrugs. She's perked up to her normal state - that is, cheerfully sarcastic - and hasn't mentioned anything to do with Richardson or her friend TJ since the day we arrived. "Still a bit too cold for swimming, you think?"

"Yeah, just a bit." I nod to the frosty conditions outside the window. "Ice skating, maybe..."

So on Saturday morning the two of us wind our way down to Hagrid's hut, cloaks pulled tight against the fierce Northern wind. It's with some reluctance that I take my hand from my warm pocket and knock on the rough wooden door.

It's quickly pulled open, and once again Hagrid looms larger than life in the doorway.

"Hello! As promised," I grin, holding up _Fire and Fang._ "Sorry it took me so long. Oh, this is Suzette, by the way."

I watch for a second as his beetle-black eyes flicker over my friend and narrow ever so slightly at the sight of her green-and-silver tie, a crease of suspicion appearing on his ruddy brow.

"Hello!" Suzette beams at him, undeterred. I swallow a grin - she's going full-on charm offensive.

Hagrid's boarhound, Fang, comes barrelling out the hut to greet us, and Suzette drops to her knees to let him lick her face. Hagrid seems to take this as confirmation that she's a decent person and ushers us both inside.

"It's good ter meet yeh, Suzette!" he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles warmly. "An' I've bin wonderin' when yeh were gonna drop round, Diana. I heard Hermione's not doin' too well?"

"She's in the hospital wing, but she's OK," I reassure him. "She's just, er, sprouted whiskers. Could happen to anyone."

"Ah." He nods, looking slightly bemused. "Tea?"

"Thanks very much," Suzette nods, and he sets his copper kettle on the fire as we sit down at the scrubbed wooden table.

While Hagrid bustles around behind us, Suzette looks around the hut curiously, taking in the open fire and hanging hams, and I root through my bag, extricate _Fire and Fang,_ and lay it on the table.

"Thaddeus Lightclaw!" Hagrid exclaims, scanning the author's name as he sets down several of his enormous mugs and a plate of rock cakes.

"D'you know him?" I ask, taking a cup of tea and nodding my thanks.

"Yeah - well, I don' read much, but I've heard of 'im." Hagrid says, sitting at the table. "Written 'bout ten books, or summat like that, all on magical creatures."

"Really? I should have a look at those." I say, sparked with interest. "If they're anywhere near as good as this one, I'm sold!"

"I've heard good things," he nods. "Think he's stopped writin' for a bit, family stuff - daughter's just got married, if I heard righ' - but there's plenty ou' there already if yeh're interested."

"She's definitely interested," Suzette grins. "Diana's always talking about dragons."

"Ah, that reminds me…" I say, turning to my book. I marked the pages on Norwegian Ridgebacks last night, so it falls open onto a spread of a magnificent black dragon, whose namesake ridges gleam along its spine as it spits a stream of brilliant flames.

"These are the Norwegian Ridgebacks in the wild." I say, turning the book on the table so they can both see the pictures clearly.

"Jus' magnificent!" Hagrid exclaims, looking wonderstruck at the page.

"They're amazing, aren't they? And if Norbert's a year old, he'll probably look most like this one," I say, pointing to the picture labelled 'one year old', where another Ridgeback hovers - much smaller, but breathing equally impressive fire.

Hagrid actually looks slightly misty-eyed as he surveys that one. "All grown up..."

"Apparently they can shoot flames the earliest of any breed, between one and three months," I continue. "The only one that comes close is-"

"The Slovakian Sunbeam?" Suzette guesses with a knowing smile.

"They yer favourites, are they, Diana?" Hagrid asks me.

"Yep!" I nod enthusiastically. "So beautiful..."

"Like my Nobert…" He once again looks fondly at the young Norwegian Ridgeback, which is now enthusiastically stripping the meat from a charred deer carcass, and sighs wistfully. "Ah well, I'm sure Norbert's doin' well in Romania."

"Norbert had to go to a dragon sanctuary last year." I explain to Suzette. "He got a bit - uh, fiery - according to Hermione."

"So you actually hatched your own dragon?" She asks Hagrid, sounding satisfyingly impressed. "Wow!"

"Yep. Got the egg from some bloke down at the Hog's Head, kept it in the fire for a few weeks and then - bam - me own Norwegian Ridgeback!"

"I would have _loved_ to meet him…" I sigh, thinking about a newly-hatched dragon longingly.

"You know, my brother did something a bit like this." Suzette says. "Two years ago, I think it was. He came home one day with a very strange-looking kitten and claimed it was a moggy that he'd got from a friend."

"I'm guessing that wasn't all that accurate?" I ask, taking a rock cake.

"Well, I think it _was_ from a friend...just a friend who happened to be in the underground creature trading network." She rolls her eyes and grins. "And to cut a long story short, now we have a Wampus called Litterbox."

Hagrid gives an explosive chuckle that rattles the teacups in their saucers, but I frown in confusion.

"Um...a Wampus?"

"Mountain cat, 'bout the size of a cougar." Hagrid explains to me. "Really fast, they are - can outrun arrows an' all sorts."

"Oh, and don't forget the hypnotic eyes." Suzette adds. "They're supposed to be impossible to tame...but Lance had Litterbox from a kitten so he seems to trust him. And now he lives on our estate in the Alps, so he pretty much just does what he'd do in the wild."

"Must've bin difficult gettin' a Wampus in this country," Hagrid says. "But then, you get all sorts in these trading deals…some folk seem to manage it alrigh'..."

"Yes, he had some _interesting_ friends," Suzette says, taking a sip of tea.

"I didn't know your brother kept such nefarious company." I say, employing another impressive word Hermione taught me.

"Well, he doesn't hang around with them all that much," Suzette shrugs. "Though he's definitely still in contact with most of them because he was sending photos of Litterbox to the trader he got him from this Christmas."

"Wha' does this trader go by?" Hagrid asks, a little too nonchalantly.

"Charlwhimper, I think," Suzette says. "They all have code names, apparently, to make them harder to trace."

"Ah, like the Australian dog," he nods. "They're quite somethin', Charlwhimpers, one breed of 'em can run faster than a cheetah."

"Aw...now I want one of those, too." I say. We were never allowed dogs because my dad's allergic to their fur, and the addition of magical powers only makes the thought of one even more exciting. Though dragons will always be my favourites...

"Honestly, Diana, you're going to be drowning in pets when you've got your own house." Suzette shakes her head.

"Well, I don' think yeh'd have much luck gettin' a Charlwhimper at the momen', in any case." Hagrid says.

"Why's that?" I ask, tickling Fang on the head under the table.

"There's someone new on the scene and everyone's bein' outbid on any special creatures. Apparently he's tryin' for everythin' that's rare - or dangerous. Some bloke who goes by Chimaera, I think it was. He's causing a bit o' a stir in the network, me old mate says. Uh, not that I'm still talkin' to any of that lot, of course." He adds hastily.

"Course not." I nod, glancing back down at the book to hide my oncoming smile.

We spend the next hour absorbed in conversation, mostly about Norbert. I'm eager for details, so he tells us all about getting the egg from a masked man at one of Hogsmeade's pubs, hiding it in the hut and watching it hatch into his very own baby dragon. The more I hear - a dragon! A real life, fire-breathing, flying dragon! - the more amazed I become. And it's not just me; Suzette's eyes are glittering with the kind of delight and fascination I've never seen during any of our lessons, no matter how brilliant some of the spells have seemed to me. All in all, aside from the rock cakes (which live up to their name a bit too literally), it's an extremely enjoyable morning.

"Well, thanks a lot for comin' by." Hagrid says when we eventually stand to leave. "Very nice ter meet yeh, Suzette - and ter see yeh again, Diana. Tell Hermione I hope she gets well soon - take her a rock cake or two, that'll make her feel better. Oh, and thanks for showin' me yer dragon book!"

"D'you want to borrow it?" I ask, holding it out, but he smiles and shakes his head.

"Nah, yeh're alright - it's yours."

"I guess it pales in comparison to having the real thing." I grin, returning it to my bag and heading for the door. "Well, thanks a lot for the tea!"

"See you soon!" Suzette waves as we make our way down the path, past the pumpkin patch. Unusually for us, we're not engrossed in conversation, but quiet. I know that my mind is very focused on one thing. And somewhere in the back of my head, an idea is beginning to form. A spark that I can't stamp out.

I know it wouldn't be identical to Hagrid's experience with Norbert. Each breed of dragon is unique and Suzette and I are less ( _much_ less) experienced with magical creatures - especially dangerous ones. We have to wait _two whole years_ before we're properly allowed near them! The second Hermione begins her third year I'm going to spam her with questions about Care of Magical Creatures. Then again, I'm pretty sure she's already figured that out...she probably guessed the day her acceptance letter arrived.

And a dragon is no laughing matter. Almost everyone seems to regard them as terrifying monsters - beasts unable to be controlled, tamed, or reasoned with. I don't want to pretend I'm more experienced - or maturer - than I actually am. My magical abilities are average at best.

But it just feels _right_.

I know what I want. I have made up my mind.

"Suzette." I say into the silence.

"Uh huh?"

"I want a dragon."

She looks at me, half-smiling in confusion. "What?"

"Let's get a dragon." I say, my voice level.

Suzette blinks at me. "...Diana?"

"Hagrid did it - why can't we?! You heard how he talked about Norbert… imagine watching a dragon egg hatch! Imagine seeing it grow up! How many people in the world get to say that they've done that?"

She's silent, still looking uncharacteristically wrong-footed, so I plough on. "Your brother has contacts, didn't you say earlier? Contacts in the trading networks for magical creatures?"

Slowly, Suzette nods. "Well, yes, he does…" She bites her thumbnail, deep in thought. "He's on good terms with Charlwhimper...and there are a few others he still corresponds with, I'm pretty sure."

"That's perfect!" I say, then catching myself before I steamroller on. "D'you think he'd ask them?"

She laughs briefly, her concentrated expression breaking. "Doing crazy, reckless things is practically his speciality….but Diana, do you actually want to do this?"

"Yes." I nod. "I'm certain. I mean, I know it'd be really difficult, but it'd also be pretty much the most amazing thing in the world. Think, Suz...a _baby dragon._ "

I look over at my best friend, trying to gauge her thoughts, and feel my stomach leap with happiness as a grin slides slowly over her face. One dark brow arches upwards; her steely grey-green eyes meet mine. " _Our_ baby dragon."

"You're up for it?!" I practically bob up and down with excitement.

"Well..." she teases. "Let's just say that this mission sounds _way_ more fun than spying on Draco Malfoy."

"Merlin, this is going to be _brilliant!"_ I exclaim. "I mean, there's gonna be tons to work out, it'll be complicated...but we can do it, I know."

"We've swum in that lake in October, we can manage anything," Suzette boasts, smiling at my exuberance. "Even dragons!"

"You really want to do this too, right?" I check, forcing myself to slow down momentarily. "You're not just saying yes because I've... pushed you into it?"

Suzette raises both eyebrows at me. "Do you think I'm easy to push into things?"

"No, Ma'am," I laugh. "So… we're doing this!"

"We're doing this! I guess buying illegal creatures is now a family tradition for me."

I grin a mile wide, my mind already alive with pictures of dragon eggs. "Then there's one pretty pressing issue we need to figure out first."

"Yeah?"

"What breed?" I ask.

"Well, Hagrid had a Norwegian Ridgeback..." Suzette says.

I shake my head. "Nope, they're way too aggressive. He had to give up Norbert because it looked like he might burn down the house. We'll have to go for something gentler, easier to tame…"

"But nothing insanely rare, either." Suzette counters. "I mean, we're never gonna get our hands on a Tarralikitaaq Tri-wing or something, are we?"

I pause, thinking. "...Slovakian Sunbeams are quite common."

Suzette gives me a knowing look. "Yes, in Slovakia, they are."

"Well, they have ten-plus eggs per clutch, and they're pretty small, by dragon egg standards. And they're one of the least aggressive dragon breeds." I barrel on, undeterred. "We have a decent shot at a Sunbeam, don't we?"

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in asking." She sighs in resignation, but there's a smile on her face, even if she's trying to hide it.

"No harm at all," I echo, but my matching grin slips as a pretty significant problem dawns on me. Money.

My family are relatively well-off - I had enough Muggle money to transfer into a pretty well-stocked vault at Gringotts - but I'm nowhere close to being able to pay for a dragon and still have enough left over to get by. And the cost of a dragon egg, along with everything we'd need to raise it, will surely be enormous.

"I've just thought of something," I say, my heart sinking. "How are we going to pay for everything?"

I'm half expecting Suzette to look crestfallen and defeated, to tell me that this crazy idea ends here - so it comes as something of a surprise when she blinks twice, as if I'm missing something very obvious, and says "Well, I can pay for it, can't I?"

"Huh? Are you sure?" I say, uncertain.

"I'm _sure_." She nods. "My family are - pretty rich, Diana."

"I guess the two estates should've tipped me off." I say, shaking my head. "Well, you can't pay for everything, that isn't fair."

"OK then, let's split it. 70/30?"

"60/40." I insist.

"Sure." She shrugs. "Anyway, let's not get too ahead of ourselves." She adds quickly. "We've still got to ask yet."

"And I guess they might not have one - that Chimaera guy might've gone for dragons, too." I sigh, scanning my brain for other relatively non-aggressive breeds. I don't think I'm anywhere near a Disney princess in terms of being able to charm every single animal I come into contact with.

"I thought Hagrid said he was only going for the rare ones... Didn't you just say Slovakian Sunbeams were about as common as rocks?" Suzette grins, flipping her braid back, a twinkle in her eye.

I roll my eyes, but my excitement's returning after the brief bout of money-related worry. "You're just disappointed because we'd have no shot at a Brazilian Featherback." I tease. "Anyway, you're OK to ask your brother about it?"

"Of course," she nods. "We Slytherins abide by a strict code of solidarity when it comes to insane rule-breaking. After all, I helped look after Litterbox." She adds, with a purse of her lips and a raised brow. "A dragon should be easy after that spoiled cat."

* * *

It only takes a day before we've passed the first hurdle. On Sunday morning I eat at the speed of light then jet off to find Suzette, muttering something about homework to my slightly bemused dorm-mates. As soon as I spot her - walking, looking a little bleary-eyed, towards the Great Hall with a couple of Slytherin girls - I intercept and pull her outside, desperate for any update.

"Did you ask your brother about it?!" I quiz eagerly.

" _Maybe_ ," she shrugs, examining her fingernails with infuriating casualness. The teasing can only be a good sign, surely?

"Come on!" I badger. "What'd he say?"

She draws it out a few seconds longer - so many 'typical Slytherin' jokey insults build in my mind - then meets my eyes and grins. "Success!"

"He said yes?" My heart leaps. " _Yes!_ How'd you convince him?"

"Well, I've got to give him ten years' worth of alibis for our parents. And," she rolls her eyes. "I have to get him all the info I can on Atticus' cousin."

"That can be arranged." I laugh, making a mental note about dropping in with Attie to ask him a couple tactical Sybella questions. "Was it hard to get him to agree?"

"Not really," she shrugs. "This is right up his street - the Wampus-kitten thing probably should have tipped you off. Anyway, he said they'll probably get back to him in about a fortnight."

"It's gonna be a long fortnight…" I say, thinking about the fourteen-day expanse between us and an answer.

It turns out that I accurately predicted how agonising the wait would be - time seems to have slowed to a crawl. Almost all I think about is the letter…I imagine picking up the egg, watching it hatch, cradling a tiny, perfectly formed dragon in my palms… and then I have to try to claw my thoughts back, tell myself that there might be no dragon for us at all.

My dorm-mates don't seem to notice that I'm drifting about with my head in the clouds, though Attie looks faintly suspicious when I pull up the wrong roots on our shared Spiky Bush for the fourth time. I just smile vaguely and resolutely ignore Chance, who sniggers when the plant shoots my hair full of spines in retaliation.

On the first of February, towards the end of the wait, Hermione's released from the hospital wing, fur-free and extremely eager to get back to the library. She can tell I'm distracted, no matter how hard I'm trying to keep my thoughts from straying to the letter, but she seems too preoccupied with reuniting with the rows of glorious books to really quiz me.

A few days later, there's still no answer, and I begin to fret.

"It's been sixteen days now," I worry, counting off on my fingers as Suzette and I lounge by the lake. "D'you think they've forgotten? Or maybe the owl's been intercepted…"

"Relax," Suzette says, unruffled as ever. "They said _about_ a fortnight, remember?"

"I know...it just feels like it's taking forever…"

"Honestly, we haven't even _got_ the dragon yet. You're going to freak out over every little thing if we do get our hands on one, aren't you?"

"No chance." I bluff, while inwardly realising that I'm going to be exactly like one of those parents that fusses over their kid 24/7 and mistakes every sniffle for the plague.

Luckily for me and my increasing neuroticism, I don't have to wait much longer. The very next day, the answer arrives.

"We're in!" Suzette whispers in my ear, the second she sits down next to me in Charms. She doesn't elaborate any further. She doesn't need to.

"There's an egg?!" I gasp, tensing immediately. "A Slovakian Sunbeam egg?"

"Yes and yes! The owl came this morning!"

"This is _amazing_!" I whisper excitedly, just about ready to do backflips in joy. "What are we-"

"Are you listening, Miss Granger?" Professor Flitwick cuts in, giving me a stern look.

"Sorry, Professor," I blush and try to reluctantly drag my thoughts back to Charms. It's no use. All I can see are the dusky-pink eggs I've seen in books… the tiny talons and intelligent eyes of little Sunbeams...

With my mind on baby dragons I can even blot out the knowledge that the probable heir of Slytherin sits two rows behind us, and that he's likely glaring straight into the back of my head.

The next thing confronting me and Suzette is the enormous amount of planning.

"We need to know what to feed it, and when it's fully grown, and how long before it can hunt for itself…" She says, as we once again sit down by the lake at the weekend, where we're sure we won't be overheard.

"Aha," I say. "And this is where my skiving out of Potions homework to read about Slovakian Sunbeams is actually gonna come in very useful."

"You know all that?" Suzette asks, sounding unwittingly impressed.

"Well, OK, not everything off the top of my head." I admit. "But most of it, and I can find out the rest pretty easily."

So for the next few weeks I embark on a mission of my own: learn everything there is to know about Sunbeams. I scour every page of their chapter in _Fire and Fang,_ and then I turn to the Hogwarts library. For the first time ever, I think I get a taste of how Hermione sees the place: a wondrous archive of everything you might want or need to know. Normally, I find memorising facts exceedingly difficult, but now I soak up the information like a sponge. I was always a dragon fan, but now it's practically all I think about.

Suzette and I are on a near-constant high. For a girl who had little interest in dragons until a few months ago, she's warmed up the idea enormously, and we spend virtually all non-lesson time planning for the arrival. For the first time in months, I almost forget entirely about the Chamber of Secrets and the heir of Slytherin and the unsolved puzzle that is Spencer Richardson.

Dragons are just that much more exciting.

There are times when a voice of doubt - or maybe reason - mutters at the back of my mind. That I'm breaking the law, gambling my place at Hogwarts…that I'm an idiot, unnecessarily playing with fire. But it never stays for long, always swept up in the near-constant tidal wave of excitement.

I'm stocking up fast on all the information we'll need. Madam Pince, the vulture-like librarian, looks faintly suspicious when I take out my fourth book on dragons in a fortnight, but she's quickly distracted by a Gryffindor boy who is apparently not treating one of her precious volumes with appropriate care, and I slip away undetected.

I feel another little twist of guilt when I realise that I'm rushing through all my homework and drifting off in almost every lesson now I've got dragon research on the brain. My long-ago vow to apply myself in lessons is much more difficult to uphold now I have something so exciting to think about. The only time I really focus is during the hours I spend in the library with Hermione, when I'm anxious not to seem distracted.

Over the weeks, I start to build up an encyclopedic knowledge of Sunbeam. By the time we've paid the first installment on the dragon - fifty Galleons parceled up tight and sent off to Lance's mystery contact - I've researched virtually every area of their existence. I know what they eat, how long their eggs take to hatch; I know when they produce their first flame, when they first take flight, how much human company the babies need and when you need to let them go. Slowly, everything begins to fall into place, and the most pressing remaining question is where to raise it.

"Somehow I don't think I'm going to get far hiding a dragon egg under my bed." Suzette mutters as we huddle on a windowsill one early February afternoon.

"And that's not even thinking about after it's hatched." I nod, biting my thumbnail.

"What about an abandoned classroom? Somewhere in the dungeons or the attics?"

"Still too risky." I shake my head. "We could probably get away with the egg… but once it hatches it'll be yowling."

Suzette toys with the end of her braid absent-mindedly. "Maybe you should ask your sister."

I blink. "Yeah, I don't think she'd be overjoyed to hear that I'm planning on breaking the law."

"I don't mean outright." Suzette rolls her eyes. "Just in passing, you know? Bring up Norbert's living arrangements or something and see if you can get any better suggestions."

"Good plan!" I nod.

"Well, it's about time you had a secret mission yourself with everything you've given me." Suzette grins.

So, next week, during one of our study sessions in the library, I decide to put this plan into action. I steal a glance at my sister, her head bent over her Transfiguration notes, inhale deeply and decide to just take the plunge.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

I pause, considering how best to phrase this. "I was just wondering...you know when Hagrid was raising Norbert last year?"

She puts her quill down with an air of suspicion. "Yes?"

"Well… we got talking about it a few weeks ago and I was thinking, it wasn't the best idea to hatch him in the hut, was it? I mean, he could've burned it down when he got big enough."

"Er - I suppose so?" She says, clearly a little confused, and more than a little wary.

"He should've done it someplace else… I mean, it would probably have been wiser to raise it further from the castle, wouldn't it?"

I chance a glance at her face, hoping she'll launch into a oblivious stream of unwittingly helpful ideas. One look at her cynical expression tells me that she's way too smart for this.

"Diana…" She fixes me with an unwavering look. "Please tell me you're not thinking of doing anything stupid."

"Well...what would you count as stupid?" I ask lightly.

She is not amused. "Come on, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I know you love dragons, but _please_ , stick to looking at them in books."

"You didn't enjoy having Norbert _at all?"_ I can't resist asking.

" _No."_ She says firmly. "It was a terrible, terrible idea, and it caused us a lot of trouble. I mean, Norbert _did_ nearly burn Hagrid's house down! Not to mention the fact that we had detention in the Forbidden Forest just for trying to sneak the wretched thing _out."_

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a lightbulb goes off. "The Forbidden Forest?"

Hermione seems to take my tone as one of nervousness and seizes on the opportunity to put me off further immediately. "Yes, the Forbidden Forest." She says gravely. "Absolutely terrifying - there are loads of Dark creatures, it's extremely dangerous. You really wouldn't want to end up in there."

I give what I hope is a convincing shudder. "And the Forest is - big?"

"Absolutely huge." She says, in that teacherly tone. "Very easy to get lost in. You don't want to end up anywhere near there, trust me."

"Well, OK then," I nod, looking back down at my book, hoping I sound realistically chastised - and that, as she shakes her head and once again looks towards her textbooks, that she doesn't notice the guilty grin creeping across my face.

* * *

The next day I spot Suzette in the Entrance Hall before breakfast and drag her into the quietest corner as everyone else spills into the Great Hall to eat.

"I've got it." I whisper, once we're clear of any onlookers. "The Forbidden Forest."

"Huh?"

"We can raise the dragon there. Build a shelter in a clearing and keep the egg there. I mean, I know students aren't allowed-"

"Given that we're breaking the law here, I think we can let a school rule slide." Suzette cuts in drily.

"I guess so." I laugh, a little nervously. "It might actually be a good thing - it's out of bounds, so there're hardly gonna be tons of kids wandering in. We're still going to have to be careful, though."

Suzette looks at me for a second and then bursts out laughing. "Yes," she says quietly, throwing her arm around my shoulders. "We'll be the most careful illegal dragon rearers in the whole of Hogwarts."

* * *

**A/N: Just a quick note on dragons... according to Harry Potter canon, dragons are untameable. I'm a bit of a canon stickler, so I didn't want to change an existing breed's characteristics. But we'd already thought up the story by this point and didn't want to give up over such a small issue, so we decided to just invent a series of dragon breeds to fit our needs a bit better - the Slovakian Sunbeam (among a few others) are made up by us.**


	15. A Dragon Egg

A couple of weeks later, everything's starting to come together.

We've picked our spot in the Forest: a clearing relatively far into the woods, surrounded on all sides by heavy foliage. I've read a bit about warding and boundary charms, but they're way above my level. Me and Suzette both make a few feeble attempts at them, but to be honest, I don't think we've made a dent. Still, I'm pretty confident that the dense trees will be cover enough.

After we've picked our spot, it takes us a while to construct a shelter. If either of us were more accomplished witches, we probably could've done it in a few hours rather than over the course of three weeks, but once we've mastered the Severing Charm after a few false starts, we manage to chop a heap of fallen branches into planks to stack around the sturdy alder tree that we're using as a base. We reinforce the roof with moss and ferns by hand and leave a clear gap to act as a makeshift chimney.

One blustery Saturday afternoon, just after sending off the last of the installments with Suzette's owl, we retreat to the Forest to finish our shelter. After putting the final leaves and twigs in place, we stand back to admire our handiwork.

"Not bad!" I say, brushing moss off my hands.

"Yeah, especially for a girl who's never constructed anything more elaborate than a paper hat." Suzette says, skimming her fingernails to get rid of the dirt.

"It looks pretty natural, too." I say, walking around the den and squinting at its branch-and-leaf makeup with satisfaction. "If you saw it from a distance, you probably wouldn't think much of it."

"You might if you saw smoke rising and heard a dragon scrabbling about in it." Suzette grins. "But you're right, I don't think anyone's going to bother coming here."

I pull my wand from my pocket and point it experimentally at the den. "Hmm... _Protego totalum!"_

Suzette tilts her head and sighs, chuckling. "I think you're fighting a losing battle there, Diana. Warding charms are beyond us."

"We need my sister," I say, thinking about how quickly she picks up advanced spells. "Well, minus the fact she'd definitely think this is a really, really stupid idea."

"Well, it is. Just a _great_ stupid idea." My best friend grins. "So, are we all done?"

I poke my head inside the den. It looks good - cosy, shady, the roof dense enough to keep out the blustery wind. I think our baby dragon will be happy here.

"It's nearly there!" I announce, emerging back. "We need somewhere for a fire, under that hole we made for the smoke…but we also need to make sure the whole place doesn't go up."

"There's something for that." Suzette frowns. "The Fireproofing Potion. I can probably order some, the _Daily Prophet'_ s full of adverts for Potions."

"Merlin, Suz, how much more money do you have?" I whistle, thinking of everything she's already forked out for the egg and the gallons of food we have stacked in a wicker basket just next to the den.

"Well… a bit." She shrugs. "Hey, I was probably only going to spend it on clothes when I was older anyway."

"Well, thanks," I tell her. "A lot. You've put _tons_ into this!"

"Hey, it's hardly a selfless decision," she laughs. "I want a dragon as much as you do!"

And although I never thought anyone could match me, I'm pretty sure she's telling the truth. Suzette's soaked up almost as much information on Sunbeams as I have, and seems only too eager to spend half her time in a damp forest stacking branches with me.

All we can seem to talk about is the dragon...when we'll be getting it (soon, hopefully!), how we'll split the care duties, what we should call it… We're giddy, euphoric with excitement, and as February creeps on there are still no attacks, which only adds to my soaring mood. When Hermione asks me how things are going when we next meet, it's all I can do not to burst into song. Instead, I try to content myself with a slight smile: "Good."

* * *

A few days later, I'm sitting at breakfast with my house-mates when I spot Suzette's owl drop a large paper-wrapped package down at the Slytherin table. A cluster of people crane their necks in interest, but I watch her shoo them all away from the parcel. She shoots a significant look my way and gathers up the package quickly, clearly making some excuse to her house-mates as she gets to her feet.

"Just got to go and meet my friend." I tell Blossom and the others, quickly rising. "See you later?"

Everyone gives me casual smiles and waves, except for Greg, who shoots me a searching, slightly hopeful look, almost as if he'd like me to ask him to come with me. I feel a little guilty as a shoot him a vague smile instead, then rocket off to meet Suzette.

"It's got to be the Fireproofing Potion," she tells me excitedly, once we're outside and hurrying fast towards the Forest. I feel a ripple of excitement.

"We can finish the den then, fire-proofing's pretty much the only thing left to do!" I whisper back. "And then-"

I cut off abruptly, the hairs on my neck pricking up. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see someone. About fifty yards behind us, a lone figure, whose tall build and dark hair mark him out instantly to me. Spencer Richardson.

"What's wrong?" Suzette asks, following my gaze.

"Richardson, back there." I mutter. "What's he doing out here? On his own, no less? I've only ever seen him with the fans."

"Who knows?" Suzette shrugs, ducking under cover. "Just keep going, I don't think he's seen us."

I oblige, but I can't quite shake the feeling of unease that seeing Richardson has given me. What could he be doing, wandering around on his own in a mostly-deserted part of the grounds? What's he up to? It pricks up the _heir of Slytherin_ worries I've neglected over the past few dragon-filled weeks, but Suzette seems unconcerned, so I tell myself to drop it quickly.

Once we've reached our shelter, we both settle inside and tear away the brown paper on her parcel to reveal a very large bottle labelled ' _Ignis Sisto'._ We use the applicator brush built into the lid to coat every square inch of the den except the little ledge we're going to use as a fireplace, and the soft, bracken-coated floor.

Afterwards, we settle outside to wait for it to dry, and I broach a question that's been rolling around in my head since I left the breakfast table.

"Hey, Suz?"

"Hmm?"

"D'you think we should tell anyone else about this?"

She frowns. "Why… who're you thinking of? Atticus?"

"No, actually." I say. "This guy from my house, Greg. He's really into dragons...drew me a Sunbeam for Christmas."

Suzette chews her lip. "Do you think he can keep a secret?"

"Oh, yeah. He barely ever talks to anyone." I say, thinking of Greg's record of near-silence.

"But what if someone _asked_ him?" She presses, clearly chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Say someone caught onto what we're up to and decided to question him about it. Could he hold his nerve?"

I pause. I want to argue back fiercely; _yes, yes of course he could hold his nerve! Even if the Ministry of Magic itself bust into his dorm he'd be able to protect our secret, thanks to the strength of our friendship_...but I can't convince even myself about that one. Never mind Suzette. She's right - Greg isn't the sort of person capable of keeping this secret under pressure. He'd crumble even if a softer teacher was the one interrogating.

My silence is telling enough by itself.

"Look, Diana - I..." Suzette pauses. "I know he means a lot to you, but...you're my best friend. And I'd really rather do this with just you. No offence to him."

"I guess you're right." I sigh. As much as I hate to admit it, Suzette has Greg pegged perfectly. "I just feel like he needs to be included more, sometimes. But maybe included in secret illegal dragon-rearing isn't the best idea for someone so shy-"

My disappointed tone cuts off when I realise what she's just referred to me as. My eyes widen and I beam when it sinks in. _Best friend._ Does she regard me the same way I do her?

"Um...best friend?" I smile, uncertainly.

"Of course!" She nods, as if that was an extremely obvious question. "I wouldn't raise a dragon with just anyone, you know."

* * *

On Valentine's Day, my dorm-mates and I wander into the Great Hall to find the walls plastered with large pink flowers and the pale blue ceiling snowing heart-shaped confetti.

"Isn't it all _beautiful?"_ Juliette sighs, admiring the decorations.

"Yeah, lovely," says Ruby, as she watches me struggle to fish a paper heart out of my pumpkin juice.

Before anyone can say anything more, Lockhart - who wears a beaming smile almost as garish as his lurid pink robes - gets to his feet.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" He proclaims. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards. Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you - and it doesn't end here!" He claps, and in march a dozen grumpy-looking dwarfs armed with golden harps and wings. "My friendly, card-carrying Cupids! They will be roving around the school today delivering your Valentines!"

I meet Suzette's eye across the Hall and grin as she mimes vomiting into her breakfast. I'm about to mouth something, but then a dwarf - who looks like he's on the verge of hanging himself with one of the long balloon tethers if his scowl is anything to go by - ambles over and a pair of Valentine's cards are shoved beside her plate.

If it was anyone else I'd be surprised, but Suzette is genetically dispositioned to be smothered with flowers and drowned in chocolate boxes. I'm kind of amazed it's just a pair of fairly simple-looking cards, and can't help but stare curiously as she starts flipping through them.

The first card receives a distinctly unimpressed eyebrow raise as her eyes scan the words, topped off with a full on eye-roll, determining the fate of her unlucky admirer as she flips it down besides her toast and moves onto the other offering.

I'm expecting a similarly disdainful dismissal, but I'm taken aback at the way her eyes immediately shine on properly gazing on the words. I can't see clearly from across the room, but I'm almost certain that there's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and she fails to stop it blossoming into an outright grin. Immediately I'm spinning my head towards the direction of the Gryffindor table; my eyes land on Attie, who's trying (and failing) to stare at his bowl casually.

After a few minutes of pushing the spoon about, he ventures flicking his gaze upwards, honing in on Suzette perfectly, and a blush floods through his cheeks as it dawns upon him it's his card my best friend has deemed worthy. I can't help but beam.

Back at our table, Blossom blushes fuschia when as she scans one just handed to her.

"Finch-Fletchley," mouths Juliette, and Additri and I giggle in response. Richard's faint smile from a little along the table is all the confirmation we need.

Later on, as Suzette and I walk down the crowded corridor on the second floor, she rolls her eyes at the lurid pink hearts plastered over Lockhart's office door. " _No_ taste." She tuts.

"Hmmm…didn't seem to mind his cupid scheme too much earlier, though, did you?" I tease.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She says.

"Oh, nothing. You just looked...rather happy...at a certain card…?" I hint.

"Did I?"

"Come on, Suz, who were they from?" I ask outright, dropping the teasing tone - though I bet I can already guess her admirers.

"No name on one." She shrugs. "But I know it was from Marks. No one else does pretentious and self-obsessed quite like him."

This doesn't come as a surprise to me. Richardson's right-hand-man seems to spend most of Charms staring at Suzette.

"Not a fan?" I quiz.

She groans. "He quoted Shakespeare."

"And the other one?" I dig. "Like that one a bit more, maybe?"

"Maybe..." She says, toying with her dark braid and smiling slightly.

"It was from Attie, wasn't it?"

A light brush stains her olive cheeks pink. "Well...yeah…"

I grin broadly.

"Hey, don't get any ideas!" Suzette says, noticing my face. "We're just friendly…"

"Yeah, right," I roll my eyes. 'Just friendly' does not equal Valentine's notes and blushing, although I know I probably shouldn't push her any further.

Still, Lockhart's festivities have another unexpected upside for us. With the corridors bustling with people rushing around, comparing their notes and giggling, along with Lockhart's delivery dwarfs, no one pays any attention at all when Lance Marchelle LaBrie slips a note into Suzette's hand.

"This is for you," he mutters.

She unfurls the letter and we both bend over to read it.

_Hey, Lance - it's all sorted._

_Meeting's at half twelve at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. It'll be a witch with a veil over her face. Tell them to use the password 'Sunbeam', and to make_ sure _they pack their wands._

_Clearly, you've had a bad influence on your sister. I want pictures of the dragon, too!_

_Until our next exchange,_

_\- Charlwhimper_

"It's really happening!" I breathe, looking up from the note.

"Six days," Suzette whispers. "Just six days to go."

* * *

The morning of the 20th dawns cold and crisp, and I'm woken early by the excitement and nerves kicking in my stomach. Luckily for me it's a Saturday - I don't think I can stay still for more than twenty minutes, let alone concentrate on schoolwork.

I can't stand to stay cooped up in the library or common room, so instead Suzette and I spend most of the day in the Forbidden Forest, making all the final preparations for the arrival tonight. In the evening, I drift through almost all my conversations absent-mindedly, to the point where almost all my friends ask me if I'm alright several times. I decide I can't trust myself to act somewhat normal and drag myself off to bed early, where I count down the minutes until we leave - agonisingly.

Finally, at eleven o'clock, when my dorm-mates have all gone to bed and fallen asleep, I throw back the quilt, slip out of bed and dress quietly. My pulse quickens as I make my way out of the common room and into the deserted corridors, crossing my fingers that I won't meet any teachers, but to my great surprise the back door is unlocked, and I make it to the bottom of the grassy slope - Suzette and I's meeting place - incident-free. After a few minutes, my best friend emerges wearing a hooded cloak and a mischievous smile.

"You got out alright?" I check in a whisper.

"No one saw a thing." She nods confidently. "Let's go!"

We sneak over the grounds and up to the main front gates.

" _Alohomora!"_ I whisper, pointing my wand. I rattle the gates, but they remain steadfastly shut.

"Let me try," Suzette says, digging out her own wand and focusing on the gate intently. " _Alohomora!"_

I give the gate an experimental push, and feel it give under my palm. A grin spreads over my face. "Brilliant!" I say. Suzette gives a little bow, and then we're on our way.

I know it's a pretty short way to Hogsmeade from the first night here, when we walked back from the station, but the dusky, winding path seems endless as Suzette and I trek down. It's a lot more creepy without the extra mass of students, as well. Shadows swell behind the trees, and I keep my eyes firmly on the path as we walk. Finally, we emerge at Hogsmeade, and make our way through the village, down a series of streets lined with quirky-looking shops and a big, bustling pub, to a much smaller one right on its outskirts.

The Hog's Head does not look inviting. Looking at the squat, slightly lopsided building with boarded-up windows I remember the big, friendly-looking pub we passed earlier, slightly longingly. A battered wooden sign, bearing a picture of a boar's bloody, severed head, swings sinisterly on a rusty bracket above the door.

"Well." I say, suddenly hesitant. "This is it."

"Nervous?" Suzette asks, grinning faintly, but I can't help but notice that even her expression isn't quite as cocky as usual.

"No way," I bluff, and before I can change my mind I push open the rickety, rattling door.

As we enter, the low mutter that had filled the pub dies down almost instantly. My nerves spike as several heads turn to stare directly at us newcomers. A group of wizened old warlocks near the door turn to stare, a woman who looks suspiciously like a hag glares up from a plate of raw liver, and a heavily hooded man near the back lifts his head as we step inside, revealing nothing of his own features. Just about the only person who does not look our way is the barman, who's engaged in a muttered argument with an irate-sounding warlock near the corner of the bar.

"Is she here?" I mutter, looking for the veiled witch described in Lance's letter.

I see Suzette's eyes sweep the pub from under the hood of her cloak. Then she nudges me in the ribs and nods to the very corner, half-concealed behind the bar, just a little along from the hooded wizard. Slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, we shuffle around and come to a stop in front of the table.

The figure hunched over it holds a glass goblet of some smoking amber liquid in her long-figured hands, and her face is partially obscured behind a gauzy purple veil. All in all, she doesn't strike me as the most approachable.

I step forward with some trepidation, nervously eyeing the veiled figure. "Um… hello." I say, my mouth slightly drier than usual.

This warrants no reaction at all. Suddenly, I remember that I was supposed to start with the password.

"Um… _Sunbeam."_ I whisper, crossing my fingers hard that this will work.

For a second, there is a similar lack of reaction, and my stomach sinks. Then, the amber glass is slowly lowered to the coarse wood table and set down with a resounding thud, and the figure adjusts the veil slightly, revealing one dark and discerning eye, heavily rimmed with kohl, and a cheekbone rippled by a faint, jagged scar. _Amazing how she looks even_ less _approachable without the veil,_ says a nervous little voice in my head, but I squash it to the back of my mind and sit down at the table. Suzette follows suit.

"Hello," I say again, trying to keep my voice level. "I'm Diana, and this is Suz-"

"I know who you are." She says suddenly, in a voice clipped with an accent that I don't recognise, so authoritative that I immediately fall silent. "You're here for the Sunbeam."

"Um - yes. Please." I say awkwardly, shoving my arms under the table so she won't see me fidgeting.

"And you've already paid, I understand."

"Yes." Suzette nods.

She nods, and slowly brings out a nondescript black box from underneath her cloak. The hooded man sitting a little along from us looks up sharply, exposing a pair of eagle eyes and a hooked nose for the first time, but I only notice for a second - my eyes are on the box.

I feel a jolt of pure, electric excitement, and start to ask the question before I can stop myself. "Is that the-?!"

She silences me with one look. Even Suzette, who faces down Richardson with zero fear, looks intimidated.

"You know how to take care of it, yes?" She asks tersely. "I don't sell to fools who don't know what they're doing."

I can feel my face heating up. "Oh, yes, we know how to look after it," I say hastily. "We have a fire-proof den way out in the forest, and gallons of chicken blood and brandy to feed it on. Plus ginger root - I know it helps with their scales' development."

"And we know when we should be looking for the first flame, about two months," Suzette adds.

"And how to tell if he's ill - whitening of the scales. We stocked up on medicines for all the common problems just in case."

I pause, waiting for some kind of reaction. To be honest, there's a small, embarrassingly arrogant part of me that's hoping for some kind of praise or recognition about how much we've prepared. One look at her slowly blinking eye and unchanging expression quickly clears me of that delusion.

"Why?" She asks, so suddenly I'm taken aback.

"Uh - well, we thought we should be prepare-"

"Not that." She cuts in impatiently. "Why do you want a dragon?"

Such a simple question, and one I am all of a sudden unable to answer. Everything I've memorised, everything I've learnt, and this is the question that stumps me? I gape for a second, but before I can flail any longer, Suzette speaks.

"Because we love them." She says. "They're beautiful and majestic, but more than that, they're intelligent, wise. I didn't think anything much of them until recently, to be honest. But my friend changed my mind. When someone won't shut up about something, you eventually have to listen. And her interest must infectious, because now I want one as much as I've ever wanted anything."

She looks to me, and suddenly I can find my voice again. "I'm Muggle-born." I say. The eye narrows slightly. "When I found out about the wizarding world last year, through my sister, what excited me most wasn't the spells, or the flying, or even the thought of Hogwarts. I mean, that stuff's all completely amazing, I still can't believe it's real - but for me the most exciting, brilliant thing about all this was finding out that dragons existed. And then, the thought that I could have one of my own..." I lean forward, earnestly. "I've never wanted anything more. And I know we're really young, but we're honestly going to give it everything it needs. Everything it deserves."

There's silence for a moment. The one dark eye blinks slowly, and then the lips curve ever so slightly - the closest we're going to get to a smile. She opens the box and raises it to her lips - then kisses the contents softly. "You have a boy," she murmurs, as if in a trance. She shuts the lid back down, and then her eye lifts to us. "Look after him."

Then, very slowly, she eases the box over the table and sets it into my trembling hands.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"So much." Suzette echoes.

"You had better get it home." She says, and with one last look at the black box, she again tugs at the violet veil, fully concealing her face once more. I look to Suzette and break into a shaky smile: we've done it.

"Thanks again," I murmur to no response, and we both stand up to leave. I cradle the box underneath my cloak, gripping it tight, and look to the door, the last hurdle before our success - but what I see has my just-calmed pulse skyrocketing again.

Two people have just entered the pub. There's a tall young man with dark hair, but my focus is on the girl whose hand he's holding. Even through the dim lighting and smoky air, those marshmallow curls are too distinctive not to recognise.

"Suz! Stop!" I halt suddenly, wrenching my friend behind the bar.

"What's wrong?" She hisses, wriggling out of my grip.

I scan the table again just to be sure, only confirming my fears. "It's Minnie - she's at that table near the door. She's our Quidditch captain, and she will _definitely_ recognise me."

Both of us look over - Minnie is leaning over the table towards her companion, so far that their faces almost touch.

"Yeah, I don't think she's paying much attention to you," Suzette whispers, with a touch of her usual dryness.

"OK," I mutter. "We're gonna have to move quickly. While she's distracted."

"Put your hood up." Suzette orders me quickly, and I obediently pull the hood of my cloak over my head and hope it conceals me enough to get away. My best friend skirts around to my left. "And I'll go nearer, she's less likely to know me."

Moving as quickly as we dare while trying not to stand out - and carrying _extremely_ precious cargo - we make for the door. _Please don't see me. Please don't see me._

Resolutely avoiding any eye contact and keeping a deathly tight grip on the box, I don't even let out a breath until we're safely over the threshold.

"We've done it!" I sigh in relief, then let out a nervous laugh.

"She didn't even look up from her boyfriend!" Suzette giggles. "Anyway - mission complete!"

We make our way home. The journey back to the castle seems easier, somehow, even though I'm hiding a box under my cloak and we're walking significantly slower. Every step, my excitement grows. _We have the egg! It's finally happening!_

When we reach the Hogwarts grounds, we make our way straight to the den in the woods, now second nature after so many trips there. We duck into the shelter, place down the box on the unlit fireplace.

" _Lumos maximus!"_ Whispers Suzette, flooding the den with light and illuminating the black box. With shaking hands, I ease off the lid and slowly lift out its treasure.

I am holding a dragon egg. Dusky pink and dusted with light speckles of gold.

I look to Suzette, the golden wandlight illuminating her wonderstruck face.

"We've got a dragon egg." I say, to myself as much as to her.

"We're going to have a _dragon!"_ She breathes, her expression breaking into a smile a mile wide as she reaches over to skim the shell with her fingertips.


	16. Things Get Krispy

And so begins yet another wait - one that's even worse than the last.

If I thought History of Magic was bad before, it's agony wading through a whole lesson of Binns' droning when I know there's a dragon egg - _our_ dragon egg - sitting in the Forbidden Forest, close to hatching. Although, to be fair, I get off pretty lightly in Binns' lessons, because virtually _no one_ listens - things are a little more difficult in subjects like Transfiguration, where I have to try and force myself to pay attention under the eagle-eyed Professor McGonagall. I'm lost pretty much one hundred percent of the time in Potions and my results are kind of laughable, but Snape's barbed comments have no impact when I can just switch my mind to the thought of baby Sunbeams.

Suzette and I start slipping off to the den in the Forest at every possible opportunity to gape at the egg. After doing it so often when we were building the shelter, we've become experts at disappearing inside without being seen. I barely think twice before I duck into the trees.

When we've had the egg for a little over a week, I notice something that sets my pulse racing.

"It moved!" I squeal, pointing to the egg lying on the glowing coals. It's still now, but I'm sure of what I saw.

"It did?!" Suzette says excitedly, leaning over the egg. She turns to me, face flushed. "Does that mean it's going to hatch?"

"Probably not right now," I say, trying to drag myself back down from the heights of feverishness. "It's the first time I've seen it shifting. But soon, probably - really soon!"

We wait for at least an hour, watching the egg like hawks, but it lies still, and we reluctantly leave.

The next day, I spend Herbology in a total daze. I can't bring myself to care - or, to be honest, even notice - that I spend most of the lesson being scratched by my Spiky Bush rather than successfully pruning it. I'm all poised to take off for the Forest the second the bell goes (I don't care if I'm late for Defence next up - not like missing out on fifteen minutes of Lockhart's ego-stroking will be some major loss) but just before I can leave, Atticus catches hold of my arm, his face suspicious.

"Diana," he says, "Is something up with you at the moment? It's just-"

"Oh - sorry, can't talk now." I gabber over him, disentangling myself. "Gotta get to my- common room…"

"Your common room?" He frowns.

"Yep," I nod emphatically, trying to lose myself in the crowd of students trickling out the door. "Forgot - er - something. I'll see you later, Attie!"

I hurry out of the greenhouse before he can ask me anything else and leg it to the Forest, taking care that no one sees me duck between the trees. Luckily, it's so cold and windy that everyone's power-walking with their heads down, scarves pulled up against the gale, and no one's paying any attention to me.

"What took you so long?" Suzette demands as soon as I'm inside the den. Clearly, she's been just as desperate to get back here as I have.

"Atticus," I pant. "Had to shake him off."

"He could talk for England, that boy," Suzette shakes her head, but I'm fairly certain I hear some fondness in her despairing tone.

"He knows something's up," I warn. "I don't think I was that convincing."

"Don't worry about it." Suzette shrugs, unconcerned. "He'll forget about it before long."

"I'm not so sure," I say, remembering his deeply suspicious expression. "I think-"

But I never get to finish that sentence, because the egg on the makeshift fireplace gives a rattle and begins to emit a faint rosy glow. I know what this means.

"Diana…is that-?" Suzette asks slowly, staring at the egg.

"Yes." I say. "Yes!"

Suddenly, I snap into action, pulling on the Herbology gloves still stuffed into my bag. With trembling fingers, I scoop the egg off the glowing coals. Suzette grabs onto my shoulder, watching raptly. I have never felt so excited, never felt so nervous.

_"It's happening."_

I wait with bated breath, my heart in my throat. Then, very slowly, the egg clutched in my gloved fingers starts to vibrate, gently at first, then more and more violently. Suzette's grip on my shoulder tightens as the first crack begins to appear along the speckled surface, snaking down the shell and sprouting dozens of smaller splits. The egg begins to splinter, break - finally shattering into a handful of glittering shards that vanish as soon as the creature is free.

And then it's there, a tiny, perfectly formed dragon. Sitting right in my palms. Blinking sleep from his eyes. Cautiously testing his flimsy translucent wings, unfurling a slender tail and wrapping around my index finger. Beautiful.

"Wow." Suzette breathes. _"Wow."_

I can't talk. I can barely remember how to take a breath as I stare down. The dragon in my hands slowly raises his head, and meets my eyes.

I've never really believed in love at first sight. I'm going to have to reconsider, because the second he looks at me I know that I'm head over heels. Shaking, I shift his weight to my left hand and peel off the glove on my right, then slowly stroke the top of his head with a single trembling finger. The scales are as delicate and smooth as water to the touch. He gleams white-gold. Our dragon blinks slowly, and I can see the trust behind his liquid eyes.

After what could be a couple of minutes, or maybe half an hour, I look towards the soft pile of bracken and moss we've laid in the corner. As if he's made of glass, I lower him down, then slowly rise and look to Suzette.

For a second we're both still, silent - and then all of a sudden we both move in together and hug tightly. "We did it!" I say into her shoulder, strangely close to tears.

"We've actually got a dragon!" Suzette breaks out the hug and gestures at him wildly. Sometimes she's so witty and sarcastic that I forget she's only a little bit older than me - right now, though, her wide eyes and excited expression make her look young.

"What should we call him?" I ask, suddenly realising that now is the perfect time.

"You should name him." My best friend says. "It was your idea, after all."

"But you paid the most for him." I argue.

She shrugs. "Well...there's one name I've always kind of liked."

"Uh huh?"

"Kristoff. There was a hero from this old French wizarding story with that name...always my favourite."

"Cool with me!" I smile.

From the corner, our little dragon gives a sudden sneeze, letting loose a couple of sparks. We both duck down immediately, but he resettles, unconcerned.

"Good thing we fire-proofed this place," Suzette says, looking around the walls.

I nod. "Things nearly got kind of crispy…hey!" I sit up, struck by an idea. " _Krispy_...cute nickname?"

Suzette nods her approval, and we both take a turn at feeding him the pungent chicken blood, brandy and ground ginger mixture, which he laps up eagerly. It's only when Suzette reminds me that the bell's probably long gone that we tear ourselves away and leg it back to the castle. I've missed the whole of Defence, but I can't bring myself to care. We have a dragon. We have a _dragon._

Over the weeks, Krispy begins to grow. His silk-soft baby scales begin to harden into a smooth, shiny coat, darkening slightly to a warmer gold. His wings are filling out and becoming sturdier, beginning to take on subtle tones of pink. He manages to hover for the first time when he's been with us a fortnight. I know it's going to be a very slow process until he can fly long distances - unlike a Sunbeam's first flame, which is a momentous occasion signaling their entrance into independence - but when he gets off the ground Suzette and I erupt into applause like the proudest of parents.

Of course, raising a baby dragon was never going to be all smooth sailing. The first time I begin to feel my blood pressure rise is when I'm in the Forest feeding him by myself one morning, about three weeks after he's first hatched. After swallowing his chicken blood and brandy, he decides to be bold and attempt the intrepid journey from the safety of my shoulder to the far more adventurous realm of my head.

Not the best idea, with my thick frizz. Within seconds of arrival, his talons are totally entangled. He starts to yowl with panic, and I'm not feeling too great myself, what with the small dragon almost ripping the hair out my head. If I wasn't so terrified of accidentally cutting one of his talons - and, honestly, if I were just better at spells - I might attempt to free him with a Severing Charm, but I don't think that's a wise move. Instead, I whistle softly through gritted teeth in an attempt to calm him down and try and think through the intense tugging pain. In the end, the best I can do is hack off the hair with the blunt knife we keep in the corner for twigs. I can't be sure, but somehow I don't think I did a particularly neat job.

Afterwards, I unravel Krispy, stroke his scales to calm him from the trauma, and then hide under my hood until I track down Suzette later on. She tidies up the damage with her nail scissors in front of the mirror in the girls' toilets, looking both fond and despairing when I explain what happened.

"All done," she says, pocketing her scissors after five minutes or so.

I survey my reflection in the water-spotted mirror, and Suzette hands me the little compact one she always carries with her so I can check the back. The end result doesn't look too bad. "Thanks!"

"Y'know, I could probably do something really interesting with this if you wanted me to…" Suzette says, surveying my bushy hair with narrowed eyes.

"I think I've had enough excitement for one day," I tell her, tying it back up out of harm's way. As beautiful as Suzette is, her own elegant braids would probably look like fuzzy skipping ropes on me.

I hand back the compact mirror, and we leave the bathroom and re-enter the crowded corridor. The mass of people and resulting din means that we can get away with discussing Krispy under our breaths without anyone overhearing, and I'm just whispering the latest updates when I feel someone tap me on the shoulder.

I practically jump out my skin, and swivel round quickly.

It's Atticus. He looks slightly taken aback at my jumpy response, offering us a slightly confused smile. I do my best to wipe the surely guilty expression off my face and smile back normally.

"Hey!" I say above the sound of the crowd. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to talk to you!" He says. "In the corner?"

He leads us to a quieter corner where the racket is more muffled. Suzette nudges me in the ribs and shoots me a quizzical expression, but all I can do is shrug. I don't know what this is about.

"Everything OK?" I ask Atticus once the noise is less booming.

"I guess so…" He nods. "It's just, you've just seemed kind of distracted lately…"

Damn it. "I have?" I blink, trying to seem as innocent as possible.

"Um… Spiky Bush attack?" He raises his eyebrows at me. "I mean...not many people can get attacked by a vicious shrub and hardly notice, Diana."

"Well, y'know, I've never been all that great at Herbology." I try and shrug blandly.

He shakes his head. "Look, I was just wondering if this has anything to do with Richardson. And, you know, heir of Slytherin suspicions. Are you... planning something?"

It's the first time I've thought of Richardson in weeks.

Suzette and I exchange a look; she raises one eyebrow in an expression I interpret as 'I've got this.'

"Not really," she shrugs. "I listened for ages but I haven't heard anything interesting from Richardson…"

Atticus opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, she cuts in.

"Actually…" she says. "I've been kind of wanting to talk to you myself."

He stops short. "You- you have?"

"Yes. About...Valentine's Day."

I pause, frown. For someone who's just supposed to be creating a diversion, Suzette sounds surprisingly nervous. Surprisingly genuine.

"I just wanted to say...you know...thank you. For the card. It was lovely." She looks up, smiles tentatively, and suddenly, I get the feeling I'm a little bit invisible.

Atticus flushes. "Oh - well - you're welcome. Yeah. I'm, er, happy you liked it."

"I did." She says simply, and I can't help but notice that a similar blush has crept over her face, too.

He does a very bad job of stifling a rapidly growing smile. "Um...anyway." He says into the silence. "I'd better go…. See you soon?"

Suzette nods.

"Oh, and bye, Diana." He suddenly grins at me sheepishly, and quickly makes his way off down the corridor.

"Good job." I mutter to Suzette once he's out of earshot.

"Hm?" She asks, as if in a trance. "Oh - yeah…no problem…"

I follow her eyes - towards Atticus' departing figure - and have to squash down a smile of my own.

* * *

The next day, we're both gathered in the den. Today, Krispy perches on Suzette's left shoulder, his tail curling around the back of her neck as a support as he carefully preens his talons.

"Hey…are we being really obvious?" I wonder aloud, as I refill Krispy's water.

"Hmm?"

"You know, Atticus, yesterday… he knows something's up."

She shifts her right shoulder in an dragon-hindered attempt at a shrug. "Yeah, but he thought it was about Richardson, didn't he? No dragon suspicions."

"I guess you're right."

"Besides…" she says, suddenly dropping her gaze. "It…it wouldn't be so bad if he found out, would it?"

I blink. "What?"

She suddenly starts to unravel and rebraid her hair, still avoiding my eyes. "If Atticus _did_ find out, it'd be sort of alright, wouldn't it? I mean, I doubt he'd tell anyone…"

I can't help but notice the soft pink blush creeping over her olive cheekbones, the lack of eye contact. "Hmm...does this happen to have anything to do with that Valentine?" I grin.

"Of course not." She says. "I just don't think it'd be a total disaster if he found out. Nothing more than that."

"Well, it isn't him so much I'm worried about," I shrug, finishing with the water and beginning to fluff up Krispy's bracken bedding. "It's more the teachers… or Hermione…"

She nods, the blush fading. "Maybe we should try and hide it a bit better, just to be on the safe side."

"I need to start concentrating in lessons again…" I say, although I know that's going to be easier said than done.

"I guess so." Suzette says, snapping open her silver compact mirror and checking her new plait. "I just think- um, Krispy?"

I look up and frown quizzically, but realise what she's noticed before I can ask.

Krispy has looked up from his claws and noticed the mirror in front of his face for the first time. His eyes widen in delight and he inches closer, so much so that I'm slightly worried he's going to topple straight off Suzette's shoulder. I rush forward and cup my hands underneath until I'm sure he's got a decent grip.

"Vain little bugger," I laugh. "That is a trait of Sunbeams, actually. Especially males."

"What, they're addicted to their own reflection?"

"Well, it's better than being addicted to mauling people," I say, thinking of the Hungarian Horntail.

Suzette grins and puts the mirror down - at which point Krispy's dreamy expression breaks into one of utter dejection. He starts to yowl.

I burst out laughing. "Hey, he's like you! Cries if someone takes his mirror away."

She shoots me a glare. "It's not funny! My arm's getting tired!"

"Too bad," I shrug, still laughing. "You'll have to keep it up forever if you don't want to bring on his wrath."

Suzette ignores me. "Tell you what, Krispy," she says, angling her delicate chin downwards to talk to the whimpering dragon on her shoulder. "You can have it to keep."

She lays the mirror upright against the branch-and-vine wall and lowers Krispy down towards it. Immediately, he stops whimpering and stares directly into his own face.

"He's looking at himself like he's the most beautiful thing in the world." Suzette says, shaking her head.

"Well," I say, sinking to my knees and dropping a kiss onto his head. "He's right."

* * *

As winter slides into spring, the grounds become a new kind of beautiful. The skeletal trees sprout soft pink blossoms, and for the first time in months, the Great Lake looks something close to inviting again - to me at least. March's pale grey skies are brightened by a trickle of watery sunlight once we've entered April, and the brightening weather only matches my mood.

Life at Hogwarts has taken a definite upswing. With the continued lack of attacks, I begin to wonder if the heir of Slytherin has given up altogether. The mood in the castle seems considerably lighter, and I've stopped constantly checking over my shoulder. I've stopped feeling unsafe.

Having a dragon - no matter how small - will do that for you.

I know that what we're doing with Krispy can't go on indefinitely, but the truth is, he's making me happier than anything I can ever remember. Any day would seem grey, incomplete, without a trip to the den in the Forest to see him. I know every trait of his, every habit and personality quirk, and I love everything - from his beautiful, elegant form, to his need for affection, to his vanity. The day when he started eating solid food, the first time he managed to hover for thirty seconds straight - they've become memories I carry in my head and constantly relive with mounting pride. I love having him. I love him.

There are only a few downsides. My slipping concentration is definitely apparent in my similarly falling marks - certainly not helped by the fact that I spend a lot of the time that could be devoted to homework in a den in the Forbidden Forest hand-feeding a dragon. If it weren't for the Chamber of Secrets mystery I know Hermione's still fully tangled in, she would've definitely noticed that I'm a little hyperactive, and more than a little distracted.

Virtually the only spell that really catches my attention at the moment is _Incendio_ , the Fire-Making Spell. This is because Suzette and I are eagerly awaiting the day that Krispy produces his first fully-fledged flame - at one and a half months, he's getting close - and I have a theory that if he can watch me produce fire from my wand he might get inspired. So far, the theory has one hole: I can't do it. At all.

Still, my own lack of success doesn't stop me encouraging a certain dragon to have a go himself.

"C'mon, Krispy," I say as Suzette and I sit in the shelter, resting my chin on my hands as I watch him intently. "You can do it!"

Krispy tenses up and draws back his head. I wait on tenterhooks, all ready to shower him with congratulations. _It's coming...The first flame…!_

Krispy's face takes on an expression of great concentration - then he screws up his face and sneezes.

"Aw, Krispy…." I sigh. "I really thought that might be it…just one little breath of fire..."

"How can he do it when he's got no one to learn from? No expert _Incendio_...especially not from his mum..." Suzette teases from the corner, where she's sitting curling her eyelashes around her wand.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to be sorting his bedding?" I frown.

"Weren't you supposed to be helping him with his first flame?"

"Ha, ha," I say, deadpan. "Anyway, you haven't exactly mastered the Fire-Making Spell either, have you? The only ones who've managed it are Blossom and Javier..."

"And Richardson." She cuts in, rolling her eyes. He was the first to perfect _Incendio_ last week; I broke my 'completely ignore him' rule to look at his spell and it was annoyingly impressive. He leant back with that infuriating smirk, flicking his wand almost lazily and producing a neat stream of fire into the waiting grate. Rooshlin practically had an asthma attack in his fit of reverence, and Richardson took advantage of a rare moment of eye contact to give me a particularly sickening smirk.

Still, I find my thoughts drifting to Richardson way less often, nowadays. After all, it's been _months_ since he told me I had something coming. It looks like Suzette was right all along - he really is all talk. The fear that dogged me constantly back in autumn of last year has faded, as has my burning curiosity. I'd much rather think about our dragon.

One day in mid-April, I slip to the Forest to see Krispy alone. I feed him, check his water levels, and fluff up his bedding. Then I settle cross-legged on the floor, and he climbs up my arm and curls around the back of my neck, as if I'm wearing a smooth, scaly scarf. I gently run my index finger over his head, laid on my right shoulder, eyes closed. The minutes with him feel more like seconds. Eventually I too drift off, slumped against the wall of the den, with our sleeping dragon stretched over my shoulders.


	17. Monster

As April slides into May, Krispy gets a little bigger every day. His scales are becoming glossier, his spines separating into an increasingly magnificent crown. There's still no sign of his first flame, but he can hover for two minutes straight on his steadily strengthening wings. As the weather warms, we take him outside the den for the first time, let him sniff around the dew-damp grass and timid spring flowers beginning to peek through the undergrowth. He even scales his first tree and hovers in the open air like a scaly kestrel - but after his adventures he's more than happy to return to the comfort of my shoulder.

If I could spend all day, every day in the den in the woods I'd be elated. Unfortunately, we're creeping ever nearer to the end-of-term exams. These would've been bad news for me anyway, but I can't even begin to think about how I'll concentrate now I have Krispy. Sadly, our teachers are very unsympathetic to those of us who are trying our best to be good dragon parents on the side and start piling on the practise tests. Unsurprisingly, I'm not doing too well.

I feel a little stir of guilt when I slip into the common room after visiting Krispy one May afternoon and find all my dorm-mates sitting around one of the tables, bent over their textbooks. I remember that hardworkingness is a trait of Hufflepuff house and worry faintly if I've snuck in under false pretences.

"No way," Suzette says, when I voice the concern to her the next day. "You're very hardworking - when it comes to dragon rearing."

I laugh along with her, but for the first time since we got Krispy, I begin to wonder if we've bitten off more than we can chew, if we should give up the game. It turns out that looking after a baby dragon - illegally - whilst trying to study for exams and keep up the appearance of normality is actually quite challenging. The result of trying to keep up with all of this is that I tend to end up cramming late at night in the common room - probably ineffectively. I spend a good three hours trying to study for the Herbology and Potions tests I have on Thursday, but my mind keeps drifting to the afternoon Suzette and I spent with Krispy. I finally give up at one in the morning and drag myself off to bed.

The next day passes in a haze of tiredness. My Herbology test doesn't go as well as hoped, and Potions is an unmitigated disaster (still, maybe it'd be unkind to deny Professor Snape the pleasure of giving me a score of 16/100?) Afterwards, my dorm-mates and I partake in a spectacular Exploding Snap tournament - everyone feels the need to let off some steam after the day's tests - but I lose practically every game, feeling oddly distracted. Outside the castle walls, a heavy rain starts hammering down, and in the back of my mind hovers the faint worry that I've forgotten to do something important - but with no more practise exams in the near future I can't put my finger on it. I do my best to shrug it off and join in with my friends.

Finally, we all head to bed, and the irritating feeling that's plagued me all evening is beginning to be overpowered by my intense tiredness. My lack of sleep last night, paired with today's unsuccessful tests have taken it out of me, and I want nothing more than to close my eyes and surrender to the softness of my four-poster...

Krispy. I haven't fed Krispy.

I sit bolt upright and thump my forehead with the heel of my hand. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have forgotten something so obvious - and so completely critical?

Suzette might have done it, I suppose - but then again, she might not. It's not a risk I can take, though; I can't have him going a day without food. And if that weren't enough, if he's too hungry, Krispy might get loud.

With the utmost effort, I drag myself out of my criminally comfortable bed, slip on my shoes, and pin my cloak over my pyjamas. At the last minute, I also pocket my wand. Trying to be as quiet as possible (Ruby's continued snores signify that I'm safe), I slip out the door and into the hallways of Hogwarts.

I walk on tenterhooks, anxious that I'm going to be caught out of bed, but the corridors are as deserted as I'd hoped. The storm outside is worsening - the windows rattle furiously as I tiptoe through the halls. To be honest, it doesn't make the thought of heading outside any more appealing. I make my way to the furthermost exit, ready to try my luck at the Unlocking Charm, but find the door miraculously unlocked. I inhale deeply and head out into the raging storm.

I'm immediately hit by a wall of cold rain, but I grit my teeth and run towards the Forest. The bottoms of my pyjamas instantly dampen in the soaking grass, in spite of my thick boots. I shiver and pull my cloak a little tighter towards myself as I approach the forest, desperate to get into there and tend to Krispy before I turn into a block of ice. I can only hope he isn't in too bad a mood when I get to him to deliver both some much-needed dinner and a sheepish apology.

Five minutes' running against the winds and rain leaves me drenched and shivering, but I emerge outside Krispy's den in one piece. I was right - I can hear him yowling softly, definitely hungry. Guilt blossoms in my chest; I shouldn't have let this happen. I scramble in the basket for his feed and rush into his den.

In a second, he's twisting round my ankles, snapping for food and attention. I drop to my knees and hand-feed him, piece by piece, and he ravenously devours it all. After two minutes, he's satisfied, curling into a spiny ball on my knees and blissfully drifting off, but I still feel terrible.

Maybe we shouldn't have done this. Maybe getting Krispy was a step too far.

The problem is, whenever I tell myself that we're putting too much at risk, I look at the sleeping dragon on my lap and fall in love all over again. Perhaps I'm being stupid, selfish, but I can't give Krispy up.

After ten minutes or so, I gently edge him off my legs and lay him in the corner of the den gently, still padded with bracken and moss. I check his water - all good - and brace myself before ducking out the den and re-entering the storm.

I sigh in relief when I see that the rain's subsided at least a bit - I'm already soaked to the skin through my thin pyjamas. I seriously need to get changed when I return to the warm, _dry_ , comforting safety of the dorm.

The storm calms a little as I approach the castle, the wind at least being courteous enough to dry me off from the thorough drenching I've endured. My bed is going to be such a welcome friend by the time I managed to collapse into it. If I'm lucky, my hair will have dried off properly by the time I wake up too.

I'm lost in warm-up-fast plans as I slip back through the door and into the castle. The sound of the rain is suddenly muffled, and my feet make a light pattering noise as they hit the floor again. I try to walk as silently as possible. I've proven to be sneakier than I ever imagined over the past few months, and I'm almost feeling proud of my successful endeavour.

That is, until a tall, slim figure steps out in front of me. I stumble in shock.

Amber eyes burn into me from behind a mop of black hair; a smug smile graces his pale face in such a disturbingly pleased manner that my stomach clenches.

"Well, well, well," announces Spencer Richardson. His eyes glitter with delight as he stares down at me, watching the colour drain from my cheeks as I realise what I've just walked into. "Fancy seeing you about tonight, _Granger_."

I curse myself for jumping so obviously, for giving him that satisfaction. "What do _you_ want?" I hiss.

He chuckles lightly. "You sound upset, Granger. Something wrong? I couldn't help but see you running outside - in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, perhaps?"

My skin prickles with fear. "What, you're following me now?" I snap.

Richardson smiles noncommittally. "Well, I was just a curious as to your... _secret_." The last word is heavily emphasised, loaded with significance. Sweat starts to bead on my palms.

_He doesn't know. He can't._

I try my absolute hardest not to let my panic show on my face, keep my tone as nonchalant as his. "I don't know what you're talking about, Richardson. I just... felt like a walk."

Right on cue, there's a crackle of thunder, and the rain comes down like a hail of bullets. Richardson looks towards the window and arches one eyebrow, smirking. "Such a perfect night for it."

"Look, I don't know what you want," I snarl, losing patience. "But I'm not interested in talking to you right now. Why don't you go back to worshipping at Slytherin's shrine or whatever you normally do?'

"Funny, Granger," he says, in that infuriatingly casual tone. "But no, I don't think I'm ready to move on from you and your little escapades to the Forest just yet. Not just tonight's, either. Had quite a few over past months, haven't you?"

A memory flares in my head: a lone Richardson walking towards the Forest when Suzette and I went to work on Krispy's den. A little way behind, not quite out of sight he must have been watching us. "Why are you following me?" I demand.

He smiles slowly, victoriously. "I told you that you had something coming, Granger."

And suddenly the penny drops. " _This isn't the last of this…just you wait."_ The words from over eight months ago ring in my ears. The threat that I'd long dismissed as empty.

I've been an idiot. So caught up in Krispy that I've become distracted - and worse, complacent. I assumed that Richardson had given up or forgotten, when in actual fact he's just been waiting, watching, for the very best ammunition.

And now I've handed it to him. He's seen us slip into the Forbidden Forest - probably far more than the one time we saw him, back when we were smart enough and scared enough to actually look over our shoulders. Now he knows our secret and he can get us in enormous trouble. I've given him the perfect weapon.

_Or have I?_ I think desperately. Richardson's only spoken in vague terms - he's never outright said that he knows we have a dragon. He wouldn't keep that quiet if he really knew. Or would he? Would keeping me guessing, keeping me powerlessly in the dark, be the exact thing he'd do?

I drag myself back to the here and now. "So what?" I try my hardest to shrug, not to show any of my panic or confusion on my face. "What does it matter if we've gone into the Forest a couple of times?"

"Oh, no big deal?" He raises both eyebrows. "So I suppose you wouldn't mind if I told the teachers about it then?"

My stomach drops. _If he tells the teachers about Krispy..._ A picture of Hermione's disappointed face flashes in front of my eyes. I blink it away and claw desperately for some argument. "Tell the teachers? What happened to 'I'm not the reporting kind'?"

"Nice try, Granger." He gives a patronising sneer. "Now hadn't you better run along to bed like a good little badger? Running to the Forest must be tiring..."

"Don't try to tell me what to do." I snap.

"Temper, temper." He says airily. "I was just concerned about a…. _Muggle-born_ , such as yourself, wandering around at night, alone. I mean...is it really _safe_?"

I'm silent, suddenly cold. This is low - even for him. "And- and what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"What with all these attacks...you know...wouldn't want anything _bad_ to happen..."

_Nothing is too low for him._ I inhale deeply, steadying myself. "Oh, you'd know about them, wouldn't you?!" I spit. "You're probably the heir of Slytherin himself!"

For a brief second, he looks confused, even unsure of himself, and I hold my breath.

What if I'm right? What if Spencer Richardson is the heir and I've given him everything he needs to set his pet on me? Right here, right now. With no witnesses at all.

"Excuse me?" Richardson's voice is incredulous and he's looking at me as if I'm slightly backwards.

If I were smart, I'd backtrack hard. But his expression is only infuriating me further. "You heard me!" I repeat, balling my fists as I glare at him. "Like it'd come as a surprise to anyone!"

For a second, there is silence - then I watch his hand slowly drift inside his robes. My stomach jolts, but in an instant I've plunged into my pocket and drawn out my own wand. My hand shakes with fear and fury.

And there we stand, wands up. Adrenaline starts to surge through my body; I've never duelled before, let alone duelled against one of the most talented students in our year - a maniac with especial hatred for me, at that. In my head, I recite every combative spell I know.

Richardson eyes my wand derisively, gives a humourless laugh. "Don't try it, Granger. I've seen you in class, remember? You're no match for me."

I know he's right, but I'm so blindingly furious that logic escapes me. "I don't know, Richardson." I say, gripping my wand so tightly my knuckles whiten. "Isn't hiding behind a monster more your style?"

This throws him for a second; his jaw quivers slightly as he attempts to remain the embodiment of cool, collected control.

A smile almost crosses my face. "What? Not got anything to say for once, you absolute-"

I stop.

A dull noise starts to become clearer and clearer. A sound I've never heard before. Like someone's rolling a piece of rough fabric across the floor, off in the distance. My stomach tightens brutally; I want to assume it's a teacher but...there are no footsteps. No brisk whistle of a cloak.

It's...like something's sliding across the floor.

"No..." Suddenly, my voice sounds a lot smaller.

"What?!" Richardson demands, narrowing his eyes. I wait, listening hard, praying it was nothing but my imagination...

Rain. Thunder. My own blood pounding in my ears.

And then it comes again, the slow, dragging grind of stone against _something_.

Richardson's eyes lock on mine. "Don't look back."

And then we both start to run.

* * *

_It's coming it's coming it's coming._

I've been beyond stupid. Richardson is the heir of Slytherin, of course he is - and I've just goaded him into calling out the monster. Just prodded a sleeping snake, with no defence against its bite. The sound creeps closer even as my feet pound over the floor. _You're going to die, Diana,_ whispers a little voice in my head. I shove it down desperately and whip my head around to Richardson. "Call it off!" I shout at him. " _Please!"_

He says nothing at all, his face contorted by exertion. Somewhere in the back of my mind I vaguely wonder why he, too, is running, but the question seems distant, too far away to fathom. And the monster is only getting closer.

"I'm _sorry_!" I plead through gasps, abandoning all traces of dignity in my absolute desperation. "I'm really sorry, I'm sorry about everything - _please call it off!"_

"Don't you see?!" He yells at me suddenly, eyes as wide as mine. "I didn't call it _on_!"

Somewhere, I realise that it's the first time I've ever heard him raise his voice. Even now, in the midst of terrified chaos, I can hear the raw edge to his tone, entirely different to its usual smoothness. The fear is too genuine, too raw - no one could be capable of putting this on, not even him.

Before I can think on it for another second, the noise is there again - louder, closer. I scream for help until my throat is raw, but thanks to my attempts to sneak into the castle in its most uninhabited section, we're stranded as far from anyone's sleeping quarters as possible. The sound of the creature behind us is drowned out by my shouts and the slapping of our feet against the stone floors but I feel like it's inches from my back.

I run like I've never run before, my lungs on fire, sweat running down my back in rivulets. Every breath is a struggle, every one feels like it could be cut short by a pincer round my neck or a fang in my back, but somehow it hasn't come yet and so we run on and on and on.

"Stairs!" I pant, shakily pointing to the sweeping flight just ahead of us. If it's sliding, stairs should slow it down - but running uphill stretches my already burning legs to the breaking point.

Worse, though - even than the slog of the seemingly endless stairs - is the slow, relentless grate of stone on an unfamiliar texture. That urge to turn my head round over my shoulder - catch a glimpse of just whatever horror might be chasing us, see just how close it's come - is overwhelming, but Richardson's words resonate in my ears. Why would _he,_ of all people, insist that I didn't look back?

Glancing up at him, the look of sheer horror painted across his features almost rivals whatever monster's chasing us. Frightened Richardson is a Richardson I don't think I want to see again.

We finally make it to the top of the stairway and start running down the next corridor. There are tons of turn-offs and alternate hallways but I don't want to split from him. It's painfully obvious: I'm a Muggle-born, he's pure-blood. That thing is going for one of us and we both know isn't be him.

Two hallways down and I'm weakening. My vision blurs at the edges, white spots dancing in front of my eyes. I falter and stop, gasping for breath, terrified that I'm going to pass out on the floor.

Richardson grabs my arm and wrenches me forward, forcing me to run again. "Come _on!"_ He pants.

My muscles scream, but I have just enough adrenaline to make a pretence at strength. The scraping sound seems slightly more distant now, as if we're outpacing it, but I don't dare feel relief, feel anything at all but this desperate urge to get away.

As I struggle on, my mind reels. Why would he go out of his way to help me? Spencer Richardson despises me. I despise him. It's the only consistency I've come to associate with him.

But with death creeping up behind us, I shove the question to the back of my mind and, agonisingly, pick up my pace.

It's as we turn to run down the next long, sweeping corridor that I see it. One minute, nothing but unbroken wall; the next, a door. A tall, heavy door, reinforced with iron, adorned with bolts. I come to an abrupt halt before it and twist my hands desperately against the handle. My palms are drenched in sweat but I manage to wrench it back with a sudden burst of adrenaline-fuelled strength.

With the door dragged open I turn to Richardson. His thin face is bleached such a panicked grey he almost looks like he's about to faint himself. Taking hold of his arm - I want to tell myself I'm only doing it because he grabbed mine first, meaning I haven't breached our unofficial no-contact rule - I drag him forwards and push him inside, darting after him and slamming the door shut.

For a second, the only sound is our breathing. Then I turn to Richardson.

"That wasn't you?" I manage to gasp, shoulders jolting violently with my uneven breaths as I stare at him, aware my own skin isn't going to be faring any better than the ghastly pallor that's overcome him. "It isn't you!"

"Of course it wasn't me, you idiot." He snaps, breathing heavily. "I'd hardly set it on _myself_ , would I?!"

"Oh, I'm _sorry_!" I hiss, through gasping breaths. "Maybe something about you ambushing me in the middle of the night and going on about the attacks made you seem a tiny bit suspicious!" Even through my panting, the heavy sarcasm is clear.

"What, and dragging you away from it didn't convince you otherwise?!"

"You-" I stop, inhale deeply. "Look. We almost died there, and we're stuck here until we're sure it's gone - maybe we can lay off the sniping for five minutes?!"

He shrugs. "Fine."

I slide slowly down the wall and sit, resting my forehead on my knees. Now we're out of immediate danger, I notice that I'm still shaking, violent tremors that ripple through my whole body. I try to steady myself so Richardson won't see, but he seems preoccupied catching his own breath. A minute or so goes by, undisturbed by anything except the sound of our gradually slowing breathing, when he gets up and walks slowly, taking in the room.

"What is this place?" I ask, following his movement with my eyes.

"The Room of Requirement." He says. "Probably."

"Hm?"

"The clue's in the name, Granger," he says, with a touch of the old condescension. "It becomes whatever the user most requires at the time."

"How'd you know?" I ask.

"My father mentioned it once," he says briefly, but doesn't elaborate further.

"I've never heard of it before."

"He's let me know more than you evidently do." He says, but he seems distracted again, and his words lack the venomous punch I've become accustomed to.

Leaving him to his thoughts, I cast my eyes back over the door and nibble my lip. My mind's whirring now the blood's stopped roaring against my eardrums and I can't help but contemplate what's just happened. That horrible shifting movement against the stone floor...all I heard was that weird scraping noise. No footsteps echoing towards the two of us, just a rumbling of old stone being ground against something else, something unknown.

No footsteps...

No footsteps...

_No feet._

"It didn't have any feet..." I mutter, and Richardson's head whips back around, eyes boring into me after he realises he wasn't imagining my voice.

"What did you say?" He's glaring again now, but it's more irritation than malice.

"I said it didn't have any feet." I repeat myself, my voice stronger. "Whatever was following us… it didn't have feet!"

He raises his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth quiver in amusement. "Well done, genius," he congratulates me, tone dripping so much sarcasm I can almost hear it trickling onto the stone floor. "Remembered what my house sigil is yet?"

I pause. "You think it was a snake?"

"Well, what do _you_ think it is?" He snickers, his old arrogance fully restored. I ignore his derisive tone, too distracted by what I've just realised.

"But that's huge! We need to tell a teacher, it might help them to find out who's behind it!" My voice is earnest, close to desperate.

He studies me for a second, then breaks into his signature smirk. " _We?"_

My cheeks flood with heat. For a moment there, I'd almost forgotten who I was talking to. "Just me." I say, as coldly as I can. "Obviously."

"Well, I think you're forgetting something," he continues. "If you report your newfound 'revelation', you'll have to tell them that you encountered the monster yourself."

"Yeah, so?"

_"So_ ," he says, as if explaining something very simple to someone very stupid. "You'll have to admit to wandering around the school in the middle of the night."

He's right. Damn it, he's right. Even if they don't immediately suspect me of doing something terrible and illegal - like raising a dragon in the Forbidden Forest, for example - they'll keep a close eye on me after breaking such a central rule. My chances of slipping off to see Krispy without detection descend to little more than nought.

But I know that I can't let my dismay show; there's still a chance that Richardson's bluffing, that he doesn't really know about Krispy.

"Well, I don't care. They're hardly going to expel me for having a walk, are they?" I say bracingly, staring him down, though I can feel my signature mottle spreading over my face.

" _Having a walk_."

"And what will _your_ brilliant excuse be?" I snap back, feeling my face burn volcanically as my frustration mounts. "You were just so concerned about me that you wanted to be a nice boy and wait around to escort some Muggle-born back up to her dorm?"

Richardson examines his hands coolly. "I won't need an excuse - because no one will ever find out I was up. You're not going to the teachers." He announces. It's not a request, or even an order - just a statement.

"I don't need your permission!" I snap. How dare he try and tell me what I'm _going_ to do?

"Actually, I think you'll find you do. You tell them about this, and I'll tell them about _your_ little secret."

"I don't _have a secret!"_ I insist angrily, but it sounds feeble even to me.

Richardson gives that hollow laugh. "Don't even try, Granger. I've known from the start."

I fumble for an answer, but before I can find one, he's speaking again.

"But if you keep your mouth closed about this…" His eyes burn. "Well, I'll return the favour."

I drop my gaze, thinking frantically. The thought of sitting on this information is agonising. Knowing that the monster is legless, probably a snake - yes, for once I actually agree with Richardson's reasoning - might not mean much for me, but there's a chance it could help someone with a better brain than mine figure out what's in the Chamber. And maybe how to stop it. I know that if I keep quiet about this, when the next attack comes I will feel like an accessory. Guilty...

_But - Krispy._ If Richardson knows exactly what 'secret' is being kept in the Forbidden Forest - and I have a terrible feeling he does - he'll spill to the teachers the second that I do. Suzette and I are in deep, deep trouble - probably expelled - and Krispy is torn from us forever.

And there is a horrible question in my mind about what happens to illegally bred dragons. I know there is one unthinkable, shadowy option that is far cheaper, easier and quicker than shipping them out to sanctuaries.

I rake my hands through my hair and bite the inside of my cheek, hard. I feel like I've been awake for days, but I can't show any signs of weakness in front of Richardson.

"No teachers." He levies, again.

" _Fine_." I say, through gritted teeth. There's no other way around this - but maybe I can get something good out of it while I'm here. I look at Richardson square-on, fold my arms. "But _you're_ going to stop following me and trying to get me into trouble. And stop hassling me as well. You've got your stupid payback - you leave me alone from now on."

I think you'd normally shake on this kind of agreement, but I don't want any more contact with Richardson. Twice was already too much. "Truce?" I level.

He's silent, pondering. The amber eyes blink slowly below frowning brows.

"Come on." I say, beginning to feel tiredness creep into my voice. How much longer can he drag this on?

Richardson gives a sharp sigh. "Fine, then." He says. "Truce."

I nod, exhale, and some of the tension dissipates. This isn't what I wanted - not even close - but it has to be better than nothing. He won't spill about Krispy, he'll stop this mad quest for revenge - those will be two loads off my mind.

Even if the heaviest I've ever carried has been handed to me tonight. _The sound of Slytherin's monster..._

I force my mind back to the here and now. "Good. You think that thing's gone yet?" I ask into the silence.

He raises both eyebrows. "Do you hear anything?"

I listen hard, but I detect nothing. Not a whisper of that terrible dragging, not even the safer sound of footsteps.

"No."

"Then it would seem it's gone." He says, cool as ever. "And, fun as this has been, I'm not desperate to spend any more of tonight with you. Remember - no teachers."

"I _know._ "

Richardson looks at me for one long moment. Then the eyes narrow and the lips curve into a winning smile. "Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Granger." He says, and pulls open the door to the empty corridor.


	18. Petrified

The next day, I walk into the Great Hall in a daze.

I should be tired - a sleepless night, chased by a monster, trapped in close quarters with my sworn enemy - but I still have the remnants of last night's adrenaline charging through my system. I'm not complaining, since I think it's the only thing that's keeping me afloat. Unfortunately, its power seems to give out as I pass the Slytherin table because my ankle suddenly turns over and gives way.

I land on the floor heavily, my ankle twisted under me, the contents of my bag scattered across the floor. Half the table turns to look, but before I can go to hoist myself up I hear an oh-so-familiar voice speak up.

"Careful, there, Granger," Richardson smirks down at me. "Bad fall?"

I look up and see his whole gang have formed in a semi-circle around me. Marks' face is a picture of derision, Rooshlin's snickering softly… there's the girl with artichoke eyes that I pinpoint as Suzette's ex-friend TJ, along with a handful of others, but at the centre, as always, is Richardson.

_What is he doing?_ I frown. _No more hassling me….he agreed._

"Uh, fine." I mutter, grasping for the wand that's flown out of my pocket and shooting him a querying look.

"Oh, I thought it looked pretty heavy…" Richardson lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug, with the air of someone holding a bombshell. "But I guess in the _scale_ of things, it's not too bad…"

_What?!_ I blink furiously, searching his face. ' _Scale of things'?_ Was that a reference to Krispy? Or to his theory about Slytherin's monster being a snake?

I frown at him, trying to silently suss out what he's doing, but he just smiles that same broad smile and carries on. "And I suppose it's nothing compared to the falls you might have if you were, say, running in and out of the Forbidden Forest all the time…?"

A ripple of laughter passes across the gang. His smirk widens.

And that's when I realise that Richardson has no intention of keeping up his side of the bargain. No need to. He can follow me and hassle me as much as he likes and I will still be paralysed, aware that he might know about Krispy. That's what this is - a way of telling me he might know my secret and can say anything he wants, all rolled into one.

The reason he doesn't want me going to the teachers about last night's attack is because he agrees with what the heir is doing. He'd like to see all Muggle-borns wiped from the school - he's practically screaming his hatred for us from the rooftops.

_Then why didn't he just let it finish you off last night?_

I don't know the answer, but I've just proven, once and for all, that I cannot and do not understand Richardson. He's won - he'll always win.

How can I be hurt by this? How can this be a betrayal of trust when there was never any trust to begin with, none at all? I should never have expected _anything_ from Richardson. Just because he isn't the heir of Slytherin, it doesn't mean he isn't everything else I've always known he is - a bigot, a bully, a cruel, manipulative dictator with an ego the size of the great lake.

I shoot him the most poisonous glare I can muster and stagger to my feet. Then I turn on my heel and stride straight out the Great Hall - I've totally lost my appetite. And I don't want to talk to anyone, have to act like everything's normal. But the world seems to be having a laugh at my expense because the second I'm in the Entrance Hall I barrell straight into Suzette.

"Whoa!" She exclaims, shifting and regaining her balance with a laugh. Then, she looks at me, takes in my expression, and the smile fades from her face. "Are you... alright?" She asks slowly.

"Yes." I say stiffly. "Everything's fine. Why wouldn't everything be fine?"

I resolutely avoid her eyes, but to my absolute horror, my own decide to turn traitor and begin to well with tears.

After a second's pause, Suzette tugs me out the door and halfway down the corridor, coming to an abrupt stop by one of the large arched windows. "You're not alright. What's wrong?"

I drag my sleeve over my eyes roughly and take a deep breath.

"I don't even know where to start," I say. "OK. Well, I was in bed last night and I realised that I hadn't fed Krispy-"

"We forgot to feed him?!" Suzette interrupts, clapping a hand to her mouth in horror.

"Yep." I sigh. "So stupid… I was just distracted all day. Obviously I had to get up to do it - so I went and fed him, and I got back to the castle, thinking I'd got away with it…"

"You were caught? By a teacher?"

"Worse." I say heavily. "Richardson."

" _What?"_ She gasps. "But what was he doing out of bed?"

"He's been following me." I sigh. "Well, he didn't say so in as many words, but it's obvious. He's been trying to catch me out, trying to get something over me - and obviously he was watching me closely enough to notice that we kept slipping out to the Forbidden Forest."

"...Does he know?" Suzette asks, her face tense. "Does he know about Krispy?"

"I don't know." I say helplessly. "He made it sound like he did, but he could have been bluffing. He never actually said, y'know, ' _I know you've got a dragon_ '...and we're not expelled, which is promising. But we have no way of actually finding out."

She sighs shakily.

"I'm not even at the worst bit." I warn her.

"What could be worse?!"

"We were standing there - arguing, obviously - and then I heard this...this noise." I shudder at the memory. "Like...something sliding over the floor."

Her olive skin pales suddenly, eyes widening in realisation. "It wasn't…?"

"Slytherin's monster." I say, my voice hollow. "Well, I think it was. How many other monsters can there be in this castle?"

"Did you see what it looked like?" Suzette asks breathlessly.

I shake my head. "I didn't turn around - I couldn't. I assumed it was Richardson at first. It seemed so obvious - I was arguing with him, in the middle of the night in a deserted corridor. It would be the perfect time to attack me, wouldn't it?"

"And….and is it?"

"It isn't him. I'm sure. Don't get me wrong," I add quickly, as she opens her mouth to protest. "I still hate him - he's still as awful as ever, he's just proven that to me. But he isn't Slytherin's heir."

"Which means…"

"Which means all our leads were dead ends. We know it isn't Malfoy or Richardson, and we never even came close to finding out about Richardson's bargain, or who on earth that Erik was… If we had, I might've been able to threaten him with that, but of course we don't have a clue. And now Richardson might know about Krispy."

"I guess Richardson's just much, much better at hiding his secrets than we are." Suzette gives a hollow laugh. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I need to tell someone," I say desperately.

"Well, why can't you?"

I bite my lip. "I made a deal. If I go to the teachers about what we saw, he'll spill about Krispy."

"But he might not even know about Krispy!"

"I know, Suz! But is it really a risk we can take?!"

Suzette pauses for a second. "OK," she says decidedly. "So tell a teacher, but don't mention Richardson. Just leave him out - he doesn't need to know."

I shake my head. "Even if I don't mention him - and they're way less likely to take me seriously if I'm the only witness - I'll have to admit to sneaking out of bed. Out of the castle, probably, there's no other reason I'd be down there. They're going to be suspicious of me for ages, and I'll probably get a ton of detentions. It'll make looking after Krispy practically impossible."

"I get it," Suzette says, her brow creasing in thought, then suddenly smoothing as if she's had a brainwave. "Alright, I have another idea."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Tell your sister about what happened. She's really smart, isn't she? Maybe she'll be able to work something out from what you heard. She might even be able to come up with some way you can tell the teachers about it without admitting to being out of bed."

I nod slowly. "I think I'll do that…" I lean back against the wall, sigh shakily. "Thanks, Suzette." I say.

"No problem." She gives me a sympathetic half-smile and wraps her arm around my shoulders. It's all I can do not to burst into tears again at the simple gesture.

Instead, I swallow hard and try to think about what to say to Hermione, planning out the conversation in my mind. I'm going to avoid mentioning Krispy like the plague. She'll probably still be annoyed that I was out of bed at all, but there's nothing I can do about that. It should pale in comparison to the news that I tangled with Slytherin's monster.

"Was she in the Great Hall?" Suzette asks, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now.

"I didn't look at the Gryffindor table." I say. "But I really don't want to go back in right now…"

"I'll look," she says, disappearing into the Hall. But she emerges shaking her head, so we start to set off to look for my sister.

There's no sign of Hermione in the Entrance Hall or the corridors so we check the grounds, which are littered with people now the weather's warming. Apparently there's a Quidditch match on today - we're going up against Gryffindor, I think. Unsurprisingly, I'd totally forgotten, but the buzz in the air is a good thing: no one gives me or my misery a second glance.

It only takes a few minutes for us to spot my sister, walking up to the castle with Harry and Ron, deep in conversation. I set my sights on Hermione.

"OK." I say bracingly. "I'm gonna tell her now."

"Good luck," whispers Suzette, squeezing my arm.

"Thanks," I mutter back. "I'll need it."

I take a deep breath and stride over to my sister and her friends.

"Alright, Diana?" Ron grins at me as I approach. "Not planning any Hufflepuff sabotage for the match, are you?"

I give a weak laugh. "No fear." I turn to my sister. "Hey, Hermione - could I talk to you for a second? On your own?"

She smiles at me quizzically. "Of course - is everything alright?"

I shrug noncommittally. "I just need to talk to you."

"I'll be back in a minute," she says to Harry and Ron, and she follows me to a deserted spot on the lush green lawn where no one is around to listen or overhear. "So, what's the matter? Are you alright?"

I meet her eyes and steel myself. Now or never. "Well - something's happened. And I really need to tell you something."

"Go on…" She nods, worry flitting over her expression.

"I - I was out last night. I-"

"What?!" Hermione demands, the worry already doused by a new wave of shock and outrage. This is promising. "Why were you out last night? You know it's not allowed - and, Diana, it's dangerous! Think about all the attacks!"

"That's what I'm trying to talk to you about!" I say, frustrated. "Listen to me!"

"I want to know why you were wandering around at night-" She stops suddenly, tensing. Something flickers behind her eyes dangerously. "No. You wouldn't."

"What?" I ask weakly. In the pit of my stomach, I know she's already guessed. Having lived with her for eleven years I know just how quickly her mind can work.

"You haven't done it, have you, Diana?" She asks slowly, as if she doesn't want to believe it. "You weren't actually so stupid as to go and buy a dragon?"

_Oh no._ My guilt must be written all over my face. "I, well- no- " I shake my head. "Look, forget it, it doesn't matter-"

"It doesn't _matter?!"_ She explodes, flushing a shade of red that rivals Chance. "How on earth can you say that?! Do you have any idea how serious this is?"

"Listen to me! I'm trying to tell you something way more important and you won't let me get a word in, Hermione!"

"I can't believe you, Diana!" She's shouting now. "How could you _do_ this? You have no respect for the rules - no respect for how this makes _me_ look-"

"Oh, like you're so innocent!" I retaliate, losing my patience. "As if you haven't broken the rules too! I'm not the one stealing ingredients and brewing Polyjuice Potion in the girls' bathroom!"

Her face contorts with rage. "How can you possibly compare them? I was trying to figure out what was behind the attacks - trying to save people's _lives!_ You're being selfish, raising a dangerous creature just because of a stupid obsession!"

"He's not dangerous!" I shout, even though, in the back of my mind, I know that's not true. Krispy is harmless now, but once he can breathe fire…

"It's a _dragon,_ Diana!" She almost laughs with incredulity. "Of course it's dangerous! It's a-"

She stops short, another realisation sweeping her face. I didn't think it could possibly get any worse, but today is out to prove me wrong.  
"There's a _monster_ on the loose, attacking people." She says slowly, annunciating every syllable very definitely. "And you're raising a dragon in the Forbidden Forest."

She doesn't spell it out any further. She doesn't need to.

"Oh, come on!" I say, slightly desperately. "No one's going to think _I'm_ behind the attacks! Are you insane?!"

"Am _I_ insane?" She demands. "You're the one with a pet monster! Of course you could be suspected!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm _Muggle-born!"_ I shout.

"Well you clearly don't think you're in any danger, wandering around alone at night! You're hardly invincible, Diana!"

"If you'd let me actually tell you what I wanted to in the first place, you'd know that I already know that!"

"Well, go on, then!" She yells.

"I _did_ see the monster!" I scream, so loudly that my throat, already sore from last night, stings with strain. "Or I heard it, at any rate!"

And for the first time since the start of this conversation, Hermione suddenly falls quiet. Her fury seems to retreat, and worry slips back over her face. "You- you heard the monster?" She asks, softly.

"Yes." I say, and suddenly feel the familiar prickling behind my eyes. _Crying, again? What is wrong with me today?!_ I swallow defiantly, refuse to meet her eyes. "I heard it. Nearly got caught by it."

"Diana, I-" she begins, concern sliding into her tone as she steps towards me. But I don't want to hear it now. I just want to tell her what I need to and then run away and never talk to anyone again.

"It didn't have any feet." I say, beginning to turn. "And the guy I was with is sure it's some sort of snake. Not that you can trust his word on anything."

And before she can even start to reply, I run. I know she's following from the sound of footsteps and ragged breathing and the increasingly distant calling of my name, but years of swimming have made me a little fitter than my bookworm sister and she can't pursue me for long. Even though I've had quite enough of running, given the events of last night, I don't stop until I'm well inside the Forest, thundering over the undergrowth, vaulting fallen trees. It's only when I'm approaching Krispy's den that I finally stop to gasp air into my burning lungs. My heart is racing from exertion, but also from fury - at myself and at Hermione. Our conversation was a complete trainwreck; my attempt at fixing things has just made it all ten times worse. I swear under my breath and kick a tree stump in frustration. The ensuing pain in my foot does nothing to improve my mood. There's only one thing capable of that right now, and its name is Krispy.

Our sleeping dragon is curled in his nest in the corner of his den, snoring softly. Kneeling down beside him, I run my fingers over his scales, stroke the side of his face with my thumb.

"Hey," I murmur.

One dark eye opens; Krispy stretches out and gives a soft yawn that reveals his gleaming needle-sharp teeth. Lately he's been eager to play, but right now he seems to pick up on my mood because the first thing he does is clamber slowly up my arm and settle on my shoulder. And as he rests his head against my cheek, I lean back and let the tears fall.

"I've ruined everything, Krispy." I whisper. "I don't know what to do."

He sighs in response and nuzzles further into my cheek, and I feel a sudden spark of selfish happiness that we did not give him up to the teachers. Buying a dragon might have been rash and impulsive and extremely troublesome, but I can't deny that I love Krispy. I don't just regret it; I can't.

I regret shouting at my sister, I regret completely screwing up that conversation, and I regret ever trusting a word that that lying snake Spencer Richardson said. But I don't regret Krispy.

Our dragon licks cautiously at one of the tears slipping down towards his head, but it's clearly not to his taste. His head juts suddenly forward and he hisses in disapproval. I can't help but give a watery laugh at that, and he looks distinctly proud to have cheered me up.

My frustration and sadness start to melt away as I settle to watch his new-and-improved hovering techniques. He's showing off for me, and it's working - but the thought of leaving him and facing the total mess back at the school is not appealing, so I put it off as long as possible. There's a Quidditch match on, I reason, and they can go on for ages; I can just get caught up in the flood of returning students and no one will think anything of it.

Still, after a handful of hours I know that I'm pushing it, so I reluctantly get to my feet and kiss Krispy goodbye. The grounds are eerily deserted as I make my way out of the Forest and up to the school - an early Snitch capture, maybe? Apparently Harry's last one was very impressive, so it wouldn't be surprising. The emptiness of the grounds works in my favour in that I can easily slip out the Forest without detection, but it makes me uneasy. I find myself quickening my pace as I stride back up to the school.

It's past five by the time that I finally push open the door to the common room. I'm expecting the mood to be either celebratory or subdued, depending on today's Quidditch results. What I wasn't expecting was for every single person to turn around to stare at me the second I enter. I blink warily at the sea of faces, my eyes eventually falling on the group of huddled first-years, who all look simultaneously anxious and sympathetic. For a second there's silence, and then they all start talking at once.

"Diana!"

"There you are!"

"Where have you been?"

"Just around." I shrug, uncomfortably aware of all the eyes on me. "Um - what's wrong?"

It's only then that I notice Professor Sprout rising from one of the battered armchairs with an unusually serious expression. My pulse begins to race.

"What's wrong?!" I ask again, feeling panic rise in my chest.

"Something's happened, Diana." She tells me heavily. "Another attack, I'm afraid."

For a second, I'm confused. Another attack is terrible, of course, but what does it have to do with me? Why is my Head of House in our common room, putting her hand on my shoulder in sympathy? Why is everyone looking at me like I'm an injured puppy?

And then it hits me. Of course.

"Is it- is it my sister?" I ask, my mouth dry.

Professor Sprout looks down. She doesn't even need to give me an answer. "I can take you down to the hospital wing now, if you'd like."

I nod stiffly, trying my hardest to keep my breathing steady, and drift to the common room door on trembling legs.

The walk to the hospital wing feels like the longest of my life. Every step is heavy with tension and fear. Professor Sprout says nothing, just shoots my the occasional sympathetic look, busying herself with checking every corridor before we advance. They're all empty, even of students, and dead silent. All the better to hear my pounding heart and raging thoughts... all the better to constantly imagine that terrible dragging sound from last night...

After what seems like an age, we reach the hospital wing, but I suddenly feel the urge to run away. I'm afraid of what I'm going to see...terrified that it will make this nightmare all the more real. I chastise myself for being such a coward and resolutely stand my ground as Professor Sprout raps twice on the door of Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Poppy?" She calls. "It's Pomona. I've brought Miss Granger…"

It only takes a moment before Madam Pomfrey emerges. "Thanks, Pomona. I can take it from here."

With a last sympathetic smile, Professor Sprout departs. Madam Pomfrey looks to me with a similar expression. "Hello, Miss Granger. Hermione's just over here…"

She walks towards a bed with curtains drawn around it. With increasing foreboding, I follow.

"When- when did it happen?" I hear myself ask, as if from far away.

"This morning, just before the Quidditch match started - that was cancelled afterwards, of course. She was found near the library, along with another student, a Ravenclaw Prefect named Penelope Clearwater. It was another double attack."

I nod. There is nothing I can do but watch as she reaches for the curtain. "I know this might come as a bit of a shock…" She tugs the curtain aside, and my eyes fall on the bed.

_Hermione._ Lying still. Terror frozen on her face. Her bushy brown hair splayed over the pillow, an unassuming halo, eyes wide open and round with fear. I have never seen her face so afraid, not in eleven years. Clutched in her hand is a mirror.

My sister.

I trace her frozen cheek with my fingertip, try to quell the horror and devastation swelling in my chest. My _sister._

"I don't suppose you know anything about the mirror?" Madam Pomfrey asks.

It's all I can do to shake my head dully. Of course I don't know anything about the mirror - I've been so wrapped up in myself, in Krispy and Suzette and Richardson, that I've barely listened to a word my sister's said in the past few months.

"I'll give you a moment with her." She gives me another of those sympathetic smiles and walks off to the other end of the ward.

I sink shakily into the chair beside the bed. All of my earlier anger has evaporated, leaving nothing but the cloying sludge of guilt. The last thing she heard of me was our argument… the last things she felt for me were frustration, disbelief, _disappointment…_

Suddenly, I remember the promise I made myself after getting my Hogwarts letter, and I realise just how badly I've broken it. I've messed it all up - spectacularly.

I wish I'd never got the letter. I wish I'd never come.

Richardson was right - I don't belong here, don't deserve to be here.

I look at my sister's face and feel the tears begin to spill onto my cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," I whisper.

* * *

That night, everyone in the common room is extremely, agonisingly nice to me. Blossom and Additri shower me with hugs, Juliette gifts me a skinny scarf she's been working on for a week - even boisterous Ruby is subdued and sympathetic. Greg looks just about ready to cry himself, and Richard Finch-Fletchley gives me a sad smile and says "I suppose you and I are in the same boat, Diana."

Minnie, Roderick and Daniela all tell me how sorry they are, how the Mandrakes are going to be ready soon. Everyone means well, but the sympathy is almost stifling, every word or smile or hug like another layer of cotton wool wrapped around me, until it can barely stand the stuffy heat. I tell everyone I'm going to the dorm and slip upstairs, but alone I feel even worse. Free from distraction all I can see is Hermione's frozen face.

What I really, really want is to see Krispy. The company without the words...but that would be stupidity itself, wouldn't it? Sneaking out on my own, when I know the monster's been on the prowl two days in a row, when it's actually been successful in its hunt today.

Still, as I sit on my bed and bite my nails to the quick I wonder whether I really have that much to lose.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I'm walking towards the Forbidden Forest. I felt a little guilty telling my dorm-mates that I was going for another 'visit' (technically not a lie, I reason; I just didn't specify it was dragon and not human family I was visiting) - but it's a raindrop in a pond compared to the guilt I feel over just about everything else. I know that I'm running from my problems, but I can't bring myself to stop. And my mind is already in Krispy's shelter when I hear my name being called.

"Diana!" I stop in my tracks. _Not a teacher….please don't be a teacher..._ "What are you doing?!"

But the voice only belongs to Suzette, jogging towards me. "I wanted to see Krispy." I mutter, as she catches me up. "What are _you_ doing?"

"I saw someone walking towards the Forest from the second-floor window," she shrugs. "And I knew it would be you."

"You sound like Richardson." I sigh, thinking of his stalking hobby.

Suzette gasps in mock outrage. "I've never been so insulted in all my life!"

My best friend hovers for a second, as if debating whether or not to speak again.

"I heard about Hermione." She says quietly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head, but I suddenly find that I'm speaking anyway.

"I've messed everything up, Suzette." I admit, finally meeting her eyes. "Our conversation went so wrong...it turned into a massive argument in about five seconds. We screamed at each other and then I ran off here...and now she's been Petrified…"

"Did you tell her about what you heard last night?" Suzette asks.

For a second, the direct question takes me aback. I was expecting sympathy, sweetness, but the somehow the simplicity of it helps me clear my head.

"Well, yes," I say slowly. "I did. I told her it didn't have any feet, and that Richardson thought it was a snake."

"Then you did what you needed to do."

"But it didn't matter," I say, my voice hollow. "She was Petrified before she could find anything out."

"Did you talk to her after the argument?" Suzette asks.

"No..."

"Then you don't know that. She could have told her friends, or written something useful down. We can find out pretty easily - and even if she hasn't made any headway, there are other people we could tell." I'm rendered silent by this sudden stream of clear logic. "But, Diana, you need to be more careful." She says firmly. "The school's on full alert after those attacks. If the monster doesn't catch you, the teachers will. We need to go back."

"I don't want to go back." I say, childishly.

"Well, I don't want you getting Petrified by some snake-monster, so tough," she offers, then gives a slight grin.

"OK," I relent, slowly turning back around. "I'm sorry, Suz - I must have been a total pain today. I didn't know it was possible to have so much go wrong in less than forty-eight hours."

We begin to make our way back through the trees. "You got chased by a monster and your sister's been attacked. You're allowed to be a pain." She says, looping an arm over my shoulders. "Oh, and being trapped alone with Richardson is pretty much a fate worse than death."

I laugh a little at that, and quicken my pace to match hers. We're just coming to the edge of the forest when Suzette suddenly freezes, gasping. I turn to ask her what's wrong but before the words form she's grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back into the undergrowth.

"Get back!" She hisses, wrenching me behind a nearby tree.

"What are-?!" I go to whisper, but she frantically shakes her head and points to barely a stone's throw ahead of us. I squint into the forest, and for the first time I see a tall, hooded figure, dressed entirely in black. The hairs on my arms prick up; they're so well-concealed that I would have walked straight past them without noticing.

And there's only one reason I can think of for someone to try to avoid detection so stringently - whoever it is, they should not be here. We both wait, hardly daring to breathe.

We watch as the figure takes something from inside the rippling cloak and holds it up. I squint and make out a faint smudge of moonlight across a smooth surface. A mirror, maybe?

A hand drifts up and lowers the hood partially.

"Ashwinder? It's Manticore." The figure says into the mirror, in a voice which confirms him as a definite male. "I'm at Hogwarts again." There's a moment of silence. "Yes. Finally - success. I've found it."

I frown - found what? He pauses again, and I can only assume that whoever's on the other side of the mirror is saying something only he can hear. There's an itch on my leg but I don't dare scratch it, terrified that he'll sense the movement. Instead, I tune into every word he speaks.

"Well, tell him that all those weeks of work did pay off. I _knew_ I'd seen a Sunbeam egg."

He takes a step forward, clearly satisfied, and it is only then that I see his face - or part of it. The recognition hits me in a wave that sends shivers down my spine. I've seen those eagle eyes and long, hooked nose before - in the Hog's Head, on the hooded figure sitting at the table behind ours. The one who looked forward eagerly when our dealer took out the box containing Krispy's egg.

He hasn't come looking for it? He isn't here for _Krispy?_

I look to Suzette fervently, but she places a finger to her lips, and I flicker my eyes back towards the man.

"Yes, of course it's hatched by now. I've found it - in the forest. It's got a shelter, tons of food… it's some kids' thing. They can't have been older than twelve, those two that came into that pub. They've done their research, but…" - the voice takes on an amused, mocking tone - "well, they're clearly not very good at warding charms."

A sick feeling spawns in the pit of my stomach. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that this man, whoever he is, has found Krispy. And that he wants him.

"Oh, he'll _definitely_ be interested. It's a Sunbeam, in prime condition. It could certainly be useful to him."

_Him..._ he keeps referring to this elusive _him,_ with something close to reverence in his voice. It couldn't be...could it?

Not He Who Must Not Be Named?

I drag my mind away from this extremely disturbing train of thought and tune back into what the man's saying.

"No, it's a very young one, nothing to bother him with. Send a couple of the new recruits - Dugbog and his little friend, they need breaking in. It shouldn't be too great a challenge in any case - I can tell it hasn't had its first flame. If you study these things for long enough, you come to recognise the signs."

Another moment of silence, and the hooded head falls and rises in a definitive nod.

"Alright. Tomorrow night, then. Around eleven?" A pause. "You pass the message on. Good. Good." He lowers the mirror and slips in back inside his cloak.

Then, without warning, the man twists in either direction, checking for onlookers or eavesdroppers. I'm pretty much paralysed with fear - but he clearly comes away satisfied. He adjusts his hood so it conceals his face once more and makes away into the night in almost unnaturally light footsteps. If I hadn't known he was there, I wouldn't hear a thing.

The moment he's out of sight, I find myself able to move again. In almost perfect unison, Suzette and I turn to each other; we're both breathing heavily, our faces ashen, struck dumb with the weight of what we've just heard.

 


	19. Incendio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally back with the 19th chapter! I'm sorry about the insane hiatus...I had a pretty bad case of writer's block, as well as other distractions (ie. I got a new puppy and even dragons take a backseat). The last chapter (!) of this fic should be out a bit quicker. Thank you so much for your patience. Any reviews would absolutely make my day! Thanks for reading :)

* * *

 

"Diana. Come on."

Suzette's voice is steely, and her face is probably equally tough. I can't check, since I'm lying face-down on the ground of Krispy's den. I shrug hopelessly.  
She is unrelenting. "We have to make a plan!"

"There's nothing we can do." I say, in a voice that doesn't sound much like mine. "You heard him. They're coming for Krispy. What chance do we have against Death Eaters?"

"They might not be Death Eaters," Suzette says. "He didn't specify, did he?"

"No...but he kept saying _him._ Like he was talking about some big boss… who else but him?"

"You-Know-Who's gone, Diana."

I sit up and shake my head slowly "He's not. He was here last year...Harry fought him off. And Hermione helped. She- she told me all about it…she said that she didn't think he _could_ die like a normal person."

Suzette is quiet for a moment, digesting this. "OK, well, even if they _are_ Death Eaters, that guy said they were new recruits… he called one of them _Dugbog._ They can't be that tough."

"We can't take them on, Suzette." I say, finally meeting her eyes. "I'm just - I'm just not that good at magic."

Somewhere in the back of my mind I know we've already lost. So many disasters have happened in the last three days...being chased by a monster, outsmarted by Richardson, Hermione's Petrification and this threat against Krispy…

There's a moment of silence. "We'll think of something, Diana." Suzette says, firmly. "We will."

* * *

Back at the school, I try my hardest to think of some vague solution, but my mind is blank, empty. Every moment in the common room feels like an hour; everyone is quiet and anxious, staring down at their homework without taking anything much in, or muttering worriedly in small groups. No one seems to know quite what to say to me following the attack on Hermione; I'm drowning in silent, sympathetic smiles. I barely struggle through to twelve o'clock before I'm mumbling my excuses and slipping out in the lunchtime rush. I'm giving myself some hollow congratulations about managing to get away undetected and am looking straight towards the Forbidden Forest when the sound of my name stops me in my tracks.

"Diana?"

_Atticus. Damn it._

I turn around reluctantly. "Hi."

He gives me a sympathetic half-smile. "Hey, I'm really sorry about Hermione."

Just her name is like a knife in the stomach. I can't think about my sister right now, can't stand to. I train my eyes on the ground and inwardly beg him to go away. "Thanks."

"D'you need to... talk about it or anything?"

"I don't think so…but thanks." I say, digging my fingernails into my palms and willing myself not to dash off.

He gives me the same sad smile, and I'm just thinking he'd going to walk off when he suddenly asks - "Are you heading to your common room? I'm off to mine, we just had supervised flying, but I'll walk with you to yours if you like."

"Oh, thanks but it's OK…" I say. "I'm not actually heading there, I'm….er…"

I tail off awkwardly. Unlike Atticus, who was clearly headed for the school before he got sidetracked by me, I'm facing way off the beaten path. Too late, I realise that I'm staring longingly in the direction of the woods.

"You're not going in the Forbidden Forest, are you?" He frowns, following my gaze.

"Of course not," I say, unconvincingly. "Why would I be going there? I mean...the Forbidden Forest…no one goes there...um..."

I cringe and tail off. Atticus' formerly sympathetic face is now swamped with suspicion. "What's going on?"

_All I need right now._

"Nothing!" I protest.

"You're up to something, Diana, I know you are. You have been for ages."

"No, I'm-"

"I'm not an idiot!" He stops short, forcing me to look into his face. "Listen, I'm worried about you!"

I can physically feel my resolve start to crumble.

"OK." I breathe. "OK, I'll tell you. But if I do, you need to help me."

"Of course I'll help you." He says, eyes round with concern.

I steel myself. "We need to find Suzette." There's no way I can explain all this without her.

He looks faintly confused, but nods along anyway. "OK, then. Know where she'll be?"

It doesn't take us long to sneak back up to the castle and locate her in the stream of students making their way into the Great Hall for lunch. I silently beckon her, and with a quick glance over each shoulder to make sure no teachers are watching, she slips outside.

"Hey, you two," she says once we're out of sight. "What's up?"

I shoot her a significant look. "Suz, I'm going to tell Atticus about...y'know. _Things._ "

Her eyes widen in immediate understanding. I half expect her to frown in protest at this sudden change of heart, but instead she just shrugs and turns to Atticus.

"Feel like accompanying us into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Well...OK." he says, bracingly. "Why, though? What've you got in the Forbidden Forest?"

Before I can even attempt to answer, we're interrupted by just about the last person I want to see right now.

"Wait up!" Calls Chance Binkins, puffing his way towards his friend, and grabbing him by the arm. "Hey, Atticus, I wanted to-" He suddenly stops short, taking in the sight of Suzette with narrowed eyes. His voice becomes something closer to a hiss. "What are you doing with _her?"_

"Oh, not now, Chance," Atticus says impatiently, shaking off his house-mate and striding off, leaving Chance open-mouthed and fuming, a scary shade of plum.

Even now, when I'm terrified and guilt-wracked, I can't help a little smile at that.

The image of Chance's dumbfounded face carries me across the grounds and all the way into the Forest. I snap back to attention when we start approaching the clearing where I know Krispy waits.

"I still don't understand what we're doing here." Atticus says, frowning around the copse.

"Oh, you will," Suzette says, and stops outside our den.

Atticus' brow creases. "Did you build this?" He asks.

"Yep," I say.

After a moment's hesitation, I look at Atticus. "Follow me." I say, and with that I go into the den.

I immediately spot Krispy, sleeping peacefully in his nest of bracken. So blissfully unaware of what's about to happen...before I can think on this for a second more, though, Atticus is ducking into the den - walking right into our secret.

And I watch as his eyes, too, fall straight on the sleeping dragon. His jaw drops; he's blinking rapidly as if convinced that he's seeing things. After several long moments, he looks to us, totally and utterly speechless.

Suzette grins slightly at the look on his face. "So, you see," she says. "We got a dragon."

"... _What_?"

"Yes." I say. "We got a dragon."

At that moment, Krispy unfurls himself, stretching himself taut and yawning widely. He blinks twice at the newcomer, the resettles, completely undisturbed.

"This is Krispy." I say.

Atticus is gobsmacked, staring down at the little dragon. Then he slowly turns to us.

"How?" He gapes. "Just... _how?"  
_

"It's a long story…" I sigh.

"No it isn't," Suzette cuts in. "Hagrid told us about how he'd hatched a dragon, and Diana decided she wanted one too. So I got my brother to write to someone who knew where to get eggs, we bought one and brought it back here and we've been raising him for the past two months. Simple."

Atticus gawps, still lost for words.

"But- this is insane! Aren't they untameable?"

"Some species." I say. "But Krispy's a Slovakian Sunbeam, they're not that aggressive...for dragons, anyway. And we hatched him from an egg, so he trusts us…"

I offer Krispy my hands; he hops into them, his tail curling round my wrist. For a split-second I look into his eyes and feel calm, the closest to _good_ that I've come in the past few days. But then I blink, and the moment's gone; that Krispy means so much to me only makes our current disaster even worse.

Suzette runs her finger over Krispy's head, then looks to Atticus. "So, what do you think?'

He shakes his head. "You two are absolutely insane, you know." He says. Then he looks up brightly. "Can I hold him?"

I smile, in spite of myself. "Go on, then."

He cups his hands, and I outstretch mine; Krispy sniffs at his fingers and blinks suspiciously at his face, but after a few moments he must deem Atticus passable because he clambers over and settles in his arms.

Atticus lifts his hands slowly with a rapt expression, gazing at the dragon in his palms.

"A new fan for you, Krispy," I murmur.

Atticus looks up. " _Wow."_ He says, blue eyes shining. "He's _awesome_. I absolutely get why you like dragons so much. In fact, I might like them almost as much as lions now."

"You've got another one converted, Diana," Suzette grins at me.

"But," Atticus frowns, suddenly looking to me. "Why were you so upet? What's the problem?" Inspiration flashes across his face. "D'you need help looking after him or something?"

"I wish…" I sigh.

"What's wrong?"

Suzette and exchange one look of trepidation, and then I launch into the story.

"We heard this...man. He was talking into a mirror - at least I think it was a mirror - and the stuff he was saying…"

"He made it sound like he'd been looking for this dragon for weeks. And we saw him before - in the Hog's Head, when we were buying Krispy's egg."

"Wait - you went to the Hog's Head?" Atticus cuts in. He seems momentarily distracted, caught between being shocked and impressed. "I've heard it's _really_ dodgy in there."

"Yeah, you get all sorts. People who want to sell illegal dragon eggs, for example." Suzette says.

"And people who want to steal them." I say.

"Steal them?!"

"This man said that he was sending two recruits tonight to take him."

Atticus suddenly draws Krispy in closer. "What?"

"Tonight at eleven, he said. They've found the den - they know he's here." Suzette says.

"I think they're Death Eaters." I say heavily. "He said that the dragon would be useful to someone - he just said ' _him'."_

This time it's panic that floods his face. "Death Eaters? You-Know-Who?" Then a frown wipes the shock away. "Hey - you don't think this is connected to all the attacks, do you? The Chamber of Secrets?"

I blink. "I hadn't thought of that…"

"It would make sense, though, wouldn't it?" Suzette says slowly. She looks at me with an expression I've never seen on her face before - something strange, sad, not quite placeable. "Well...Muggle-borns are the ones being targeted. That was central to You-Know-Who's regime."

"You don't think...you don't think they want Krispy for _that,_ do you?" I ask, aghast, as a terrible possibility dawns on me. "To use for attacks?"

"Maybe Slytherin's monster _is_ a dragon?" Atticus suggests.

I shake my head. "I'm pretty sure it's a snake of some kind. Well, that's what Richardson says."

Atticus screws up his nose. " _Richardson?_ What's he got to do with it?"

"That bit really _is_ a long story," Suzette cuts in. "The point is, we have a dragon, and in less than twelve hours, someone's going to try and take him."

"And we're absolutely stuck." I say, that old edge of helplessness creeping into my voice. "We can't tell the teachers, or we're probably expelled, and Krispy might be - well -" I break off. "We can't just put him somewhere else in the Forest, they'll scour it until they find him - and that's if he doesn't come back to his territory. There's no way we can smuggle him inside the school! And we can't fight them off."

Atticus blinks and frowns, as if I've just said something in double Dutch. "Why not?"

I swallow a sigh. "Attie, we _cannot_ fight off probable Death Eaters on our own."

"Well, not on our own, obviously." He says. "But we're not on our own, are we?"

"Er - we're not?" Suzette says.

"Of course not!" He says. "You have two older brothers, don't you, Suzette?"

For once, my best friend is speechless. She gapes at Atticus, as a slow realisation spreads over her face. "Yes, I do…"

"Two of the strongest duellers in the school, as well, right? Pity they're wasted on Slytherin, but it can't be helped…"

"Oi!" Suzette snaps out of her trance and swats him on the arm. "You Gryffindors are _so_ tactless."

"And I don't have any siblings about, but I bet Sybella would help." He powers on. "Wouldn't know it to look at her, but she's great at duelling."

"Would she help?" I ask. "Would your brothers, Suz?"

She nods confidently. "Lance will definitely be up for it - I can't believe I didn't think of it before, actually. And Gwaine might be a _bit_ more difficult, but I bet he can be persuaded."

"We can do it, Diana." Atticus says, eyes earnest.

"And you don't think we should tell the teachers or anything?" I check, though I'm pretty sure I know the answer.

"I'm a Gryffindor. We don't go to the teachers - we fight it out." He grins. "Or we get our cousins to help us fight it out, anyway."

Suzette looks a little like she wants to roll her eyes so hard they'll be stuck spiralling like slot machine pinwheels, but there's a smile threatening to blossom that even she can't conceal, despite her ever-remarkable skill at controlling her expressions.

"So, what do you think, Diana?" She asks, turning to me.

And for the first time since Hermione's Petrification, I feel a spark of hope. The beginnings of a building determination. _We have a chance._ We have a shot at saving Krispy, and I'm not going to throw it away. "Let's do it."

* * *

An hour later, there are six of us all crammed into the den in the woods. Krispy is beside himself with so many people to show off to, clambering up everyone's arms and preening his scales with especial effort - totally oblivious to the seriousness of what we're talking about.

"So, let me get this straight, Suzette." Gwaine says, rubbing his forehead in incredulity as he surveys the dragon curling around his ankles. "You bought a dragon egg, snuck out to Hogsmeade to pick it up in the middle of the night, and you've spent the past two months sneaking out here to look after him?"

"Pretty much." She shrugs. "What's wrong?" She asks at the sight of his aghast expression.

"Yeah, Gwaine," Lance says slyly. I can't help but notice that he and Sybella Stark are standing rather close to each other, their shoulders almost touching. "It's not like _you_ didn't get up to a few things before your Prefect days..."

At that, the ghost of a grin slips across the oldest brother's face, clearly reminiscing - I get the feeling there are a fair few stories about Suzette's family that I still haven't heard, but I guess this isn't the time.

Gwaine seems to think the same thing. He abruptly shakes away the smile, and the previous highly focused expression replaces it. "Never mind that. What we need to figure out now is what exactly we're going to do."

Atticus jumps in. "We're going to fight these guys off and save Krispy, of course!"

"I think you left a few gaps there, Attie." Sybella tells her cousin drily. " _How_ are we going to do it?"

"You can duel, Syb." He says, in that same relentlessly positive tone. "And you two can as well, can't you?" He asks Suzette's brothers.

"Been hyping up my skills, Suzette?" Lance asks his sister.

"Why would I have to? You brag well all by yourself," she fires back. "But anyway, Attie's right, isn't he? You two _can_ duel. You're on track for an 'O' in Defence, Gwaine."

"Well, yes. But I think you might be oversimplifying things a little." Her oldest brother says.

"Hm?"

"Well, what exactly do you know about these people?"

"Not much," I say worriedly. "From what we heard, there are gonna be two of them, and they're going to take him back to their...boss."

"And he said they were new recruits." Suzette recites, with a little more confidence. "Whoever this group is - even if they _are_ some resurging Death Eaters or something - I don't think these two are their best."

"We can fight them off," Lance says, characteristically confident. "Easily."

"But if they see a big crowd of us, they're not even going to try." Gwaine points out. "They'll probably just sneak away and come back with more people."

"What we need to do," I agree. "Is to get them into a confrontation and _prove_ to them that we shouldn't be messed with."

"And if they come back afterwards?"

"We can move Krispy." Suzette says. "We'll find somewhere. That isn't important - what matters now is getting through tonight."

"Alright, then." Sybella says, pushing her golden hair behind her ears as if she means business. "We need to make a plan. If we want to lull them into a false sense of security, some of us should stay hidden and then reveal ourselves once you've got them in conversation. Whoever they'll feel least threatened by initially."

"That'll be us," Suzette says, looking at me.

"And me," Atticus chimes in. I'm not sure I totally agree - despite his age, his height and stockiness make him substantially more physically imposing than me or Suzette - but I guess this is that Gryffindor chivalry coming out.

"So you three start off." Gwaine nods. "Get them talking, if you can, we might find out something useful."

"Should be easy for you, Suz," Lance says. "With your big mouth."

She mutters what I can only assume is a French swear word at him. "Hark who's talking, Lance. So, we get them talking, and if things start to look...nasty… you reveal yourselves."

"And duel?" Atticus asks.

"If it comes to that." Sybella says. "Hopefully it won't…" But even as she says it, there's a note of doubt; I think we all know that the kidnappers probably won't give up easily.

"And what time did he say it'd be?" Lance asks, jolting me away from this unpleasant train of thought.

"Eleven." Suzette says. "Right, Diana?"

I nod. Every word he said is etched in my memory. "So we need to be prepared for then."

"A bit before then, ideally," Sybella says. "In case they come early."

"Be down here for ten?" Atticus suggests.

But I'm struck by a sudden problem. "It's going to be really hard getting out the castle undetected. There have been teachers patrolling everywhere since-." I tail off. I won't think about Hermione's attack right now. I can't. "I wish I had an Invisibility Cloak." I say, thinking of everything my sister's told me about Harry's. They hardly ever get caught.

For a second, there is silence while everyone ponders this. "Well," Lance says. "You don't always need a Cloak to become invisible."

"Um - you don't?"

"No, there are spells for it. The Disillusionment Charm." He looks to his brother. "Don't suppose you've come across that one in your studies, Gwaine?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. I'm practising it at the moment, for a break from OWL prep..." He frowns for a moment, clearly concentrating so hard that he doesn't see the horror on Suzette's face at the mention of extra spellwork as a 'break'. "Alright." He decides. "I can perform it on myself first, and then come around to your common rooms in turn. The only thing you'll have to manage is getting out of them in the first place."

I nod. That shouldn't be too difficult; even with the extra security, three months of slipping out here nonchalantly has made me an expert in sneaking away from the common room without arousing suspicion.

"Sounds like a plan," Lance agrees. "And right now, we all need to get back to the castle before anyone notices we're gone."

"It's the weekend." Suzette points out.

"But the castle's still on alert," Sybella says. "The teachers are checking the corridors to make sure people aren't wandering about, so we'd better get back before they notice something's wrong."

There's a mumbled chorus of assent, and everyone prepares to leave. On a whim, I lean down and scoop up Krispy, look straight into his trusting liquid eyes.

"Don't worry," I whisper to him. "They don't have a chance."

* * *

"Any sign of them?" I ask quietly, my mouth dry.

"Not since you asked me thirty seconds ago, Diana." Suzette mutters back after peering briefly into the forest.

I crack my knuckles and bob up and down, restless with nerves. Admittedly, the escape down here went very smoothly - almost too smoothly. All I had to do was slip out the common room at half nine, wait a few minutes for for five invisible people to whisper a greeting, and stand and watch myself disappear. Gwaine's Disillusionment Charms are pretty much flawless; there was something strangely liberating about walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, completely invisible, completely unseen. The other-wordly effect was only spoilt when I bumped into someone or felt someone else walk into me for the dozenth time - easier than you'd think, when you're invisible.

A few ' _Alohamora'_ s later, we were spilling out onto the grounds, breathing a sigh of relief that we'd managed the first step unscathed, watching our bodies reappear - and psyching ourselves up for the next one. Still, walking gave me something to do, something to channel my insane excess of nervous energy into. Standing stock-still in front of Krispy's den, like we've been doing - or trying to do, in my case - for the past half an hour has been nightmarish.

"What time is it?" I ask Atticus, who's wearing the only watch between the three of us still visible.

He glances down. "Quarter to eleven."

"I just wish they'd _come_ now…" I mutter. Whatever they bring cannot be worse than the wait. I turn around and duck my head into Krispy's den. He's sleeping in the corner, peacefully oblivious. I watch his steady breathing for a moment, then turn back to the forest.

It's another twenty minutes of jitters and paranoia, jumping at every hoot or rustle from the treetops. I'm just marvelling at how Atticus remains so steady, how Suzette looks almost bored, when I hear it. For real, this time.

"What was that?!" I hiss, springing forward.

"You heard something?"

"Oh yeah." I say, just before another twig snapping sharply underfoot sets my pulse racing again. I take a deep breath, try to quell the nausea in my stomach. _I'm not ready!_ I think - kind of pathetically, given what I've been willing for the past ten minutes - but I don't have time to dwell on any of it because they're coming. They're coming.

I begin to make them out, two shadowy shapes moving closer, their outlines becoming more defined against the trees. Two figures, both dressed in black robes; one is short and stocky, not massively bigger than Atticus, the other a head taller, lanky in physique. From the way they're muttering to each other, they haven't seen the three of us yet.

"Stay back!" Atticus yells as they approach.

For a second, the two of them falter. Then the taller one shakes his head. "Who's there?!"

Before any of us can say anything, he steps forward, tentatively. I watch as relief dawns on his face, the confused frown twisting into a smile. "Kids." He says. "Just kids."

"You'd better back away now." I say, trying to make my voice sound as authoritative as I can. "Dragons are hardly easy to handle, you know."

He blinks, momentarily wrong-footed.

"They know what we're doing here?" Mutters the shorter one, who I can now see is wearing oversized spectacles and a very nervous expression.

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" The taller one snaps back at him. He looks to us. "Do you think we're stupid?" He demands. "This dragon isn't breathing fire yet."

"How would you know?" Atticus asks.

He smiles. "We're here on behalf of someone who knows more about dragons that you could ever dream of."

"Yeah? What's his name?" I ask, my heart pounding. I want to know if they'll confirm they're Death Eaters….confirm who this _someone_ is.

"Oh, before long, you'll all know his name...you are the rest of the wizarding world. It will be everywhere, I assure you." He suddenly jolts back to attention and fixes us with a hard glare. "Now...get out the way."

"Not a chance," I say through gritted teeth, trying extremely hard to quell the shaking in my voice.

"Come on, now." The shorter one says. "This doesn't have to be difficult."

Suzette raises her wand with an admirably steady hand. "No, it can be very easy." She smiles. "All you two have to do is kindly leave, right now. Really, it couldn't be simpler."

Her tone is typically light, edged with her signature sing-song sarcasm, but the man is obviously not impressed. He takes a long look at her face, his own growing increasingly angrier when her gaze remains unafraid.

"Uppity little brat." He growls, edging slightly nearer to my best friend.

In a second, Atticus is in front of her, wand raised. "Hey!" He snarls. "You back off."

But they don't look chastened, just amused. "We're not scared of your little boyfriend." The taller one smirks. "Now, for the last time: _move - out - the - way."_

Every cell in my body screams at me to run, but I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, tightening the grip on my wand. "No."

"Fine." He shrugs. "I've tried being nice. I'll just have to hex every one of you."

"You won't." Suzette says.

He laughs, a long, shrieking cackle that sounds eerily like that of a hyena. "And you're going to stop us, are you? Three kids are going to stop us?"

"No." Says another voice, deep and assured. "But we will."

And with the, the Invisibility Charm is removed, and three people step out of the shadows. Both of Suzette's brothers tower right over the intruders, and even Sybella, who normally exudes approachable warmth, looks threatening. All three of them have matching grim expressions - and identically raised wands.

"Six against two, isn't it? Perhaps _you_ should move."

The bespectacled man looks decidedly unnerved by these new arrivals. He steps back slightly and mutters to the other one. "Actually, Dugbog, maybe we should just-"

"No chance!" He hisses. "This changes nothing. We have a job to do."

For a moment, everyone stands with their wands held unnervingly still. We're all locked at a stalemate, stiff with unease. No one wants to make the first move, no one wants to detonate the bomb.

I fix my eyes on the taller one, watch as his lips teeter around the edge of an incantation. What happens next is a blur.

" _Stupify!"_

" _Protego!"_

Sybella's Shield Charm is so strong that his Stunning Spell bounces straight off in a jet off red light that he has to duck to avoid. But a second later they've regrouped, and a double-header of jinxes shatters it. Chaos descends, a flurry of shouted spells and jets of light. I narrowly dodge a stream of scarlet heading straight for my head, feel my heart leap into my throat at the sight of so many near misses. In the heat of the fight the only spell I seem to remember is ' _Expelliarmus'_ but none of my wild shots are hitting. It's all I can do to stay on my feet, to stay one step ahead of the curses.

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ One of the kidnappers shrieks.

Gwaine dodges the jinx and brandishes his own wand. " _Incarcerous!"_

Another dodge. " _Stupi-!"  
_

" _Expelliarmus!"_

This Disarming Charm, thrown out by one of Suzette's brothers - I can't tell which - hits home; the short one curses as his wand flies right out his hand and lands in the nearby shrubbery. He backs off to retrieve it, leaving his friend to squawk in outrage and dodge Lance's last Stunning Spell by a hair's breadth.

I think we're on top - but they're still holding up, still fighting back, now the short one has clawed his wand back and starting firing jinxes once again. None of us have thrown anything worse than a Stunning Spell, and our defenses aren't putting a dent in their resolve. We'll be locked at a second stalemate, for who knows how long, unless something changes, and changes now. _Fight fire with fire._ I aim for the gap between their shoulders, take a deep breath and focus hard.

" _Incendio!"_

The flames surprise me so much that for a moment I don't notice where they're coming from. It's only when I flicker my eyes towards my wand, dazzled by my own sudden success, that I see it. There is nothing coming from my wand, nothing at all.

Instead, I see my dragon reared up on his hind legs, head thrown forward, spitting a long stream of bright orange fire straight at the kidnappers.

Time slows; I watch as the shock and horror slide over their faces, registering just what it is that they've actually walked into. And then all of a sudden the volume is back up - everything's crazy, chaotic. No one is throwing jinxes; we're all too stunned. The two of them scream wildly as they dart backwards, both barely avoiding the flames. Krispy isn't deterred. He hisses once, a raw, rough sound I've never heard him make before, and lets loose a series of torrents, each of them increasingly confident.

"He said it wasn't breathing fire yet!" The taller man shrieks as he ducks the next stream.

" _Well, it looks like he was wrong, doesn't it?!"_ Snarls the other, attempting to dodge the flames - unsuccessfully. He lets out a loud scream as his shoulder catches fire, dropping his wand as he slaps it out. At that point, the other one grabs his arm and wrenches him away.

"No chance, Dugbog! We're leaving, now! Come _on!"_

And finally, wordlessly, he obliges. The two of them back off speedily, stumbling over rocks and fallen branches as they run, then gathering speed. Krispy rears right up on his hind legs and hisses harshly in their direction, but they're gone.

For a moment, there is silence among our little group, the only sound the increasingly faint footsteps and shouts of the would-be kidnappers. I am frozen, watching them go with my wand arm still held up uselessly, needlessly. I listen to the pounding of my heart, the rushing of blood in my ears, and wait for the fear to ebb away.

"Well," Lance says into the silence. "It looks like you didn't need us at all."

There's a chorus of nervous laughter and the tension starts to melt. For what seems like the first time since the fight began, I exhale. Everyone breaks into conversation, congratulations; behind us, Sybella and Lance settle on a non-verbal means of celebrating. Atticus gasps and Suzette tuts at the sight of their very enthusiastic kiss.

But the one I'm interested in is the dragon.

"Look at you," I whisper to him, dropping to me knees. "Your first flame." My eyes blur at the edges. "You're all grown up, Krispy."

I remember the way his egg cracked, the tiny little creature it revealed - now grown into the small but fiercely protective dragon in front of me.

Still, Krispy proves he's not too mature to clamber onto his usual spot on my shoulder. He settles, sighing contentedly into my hair, and Suzette and Atticus pull me into a three-way hug as the tears of relief and pride start to fall down my face.


	20. The Wrap-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's a proper author's note at the end of this chapter, but in short: this is the end of this fic! Thank you so much to everyone for reading, and I really hope you enjoy the last chapter! :)

A month later, everything has changed.

We know who was behind the Chamber of Secrets; the answer, under our noses the entire time. Ginny Weasley - who sat on the table along in Herbology, who shared a common room with Atticus, who seemed by all accounts shy, sweet and harmless, who my own sister seemed fond of - Ginny Weasley was the one who'd opened the Chamber, set the Basilisk at work - though not, of course, of her own accord. Apparently she poured her heart into a diary that contained the memory of a teenage Voldemort, sunk into a trance that turned her into a puppet for his aims. It makes the illusive 'Dugbog' and his companion seem sweet in comparison.

Still, I wasn't thinking about Dugbog when we were all being woken up at midnight last night. Given that not six hours ago we'd been told that a student had been taken into the Chamber itself, I was terrified that Professor Sprout was coming to tell us that there had been a death. But when the candlelight fell on her face and revealed a broad, if slightly battered-looking, smile, I knew everything was alright.

"Everyone up!" She'd ordered cheerfully.

"What's going on?" Juliette had asked, grasping for her glasses.

"Is everything OK? Do we have to leave the school?" Blossom worried.

Our Head of House just smiled. "No, Miss Antebellum, you certainly don't have to leave the school. Slytherin's monster is dead, the Chamber of Secrets has been closed for good - so, naturally, Professor Dumbledore thought it necessary for us all to celebrate with a feast." She shook her head, rather fondly. "Everyone down to the Great Hall!"

And so we'd all risen (even Ruby, who ordinarily couldn't be dragged from her bed by wild horses), giggling nervously, pinning our cloaks around our pyjamas, and hurried downstairs to the Great Hall to be greeted by a feast like no other.

The mood was euphoric, the air heavy with tears and laughter and that blissful, brilliant relief. People were jumping up from the House tables, talking avidly; I ran to Gryffindor's to hug Attie, and dashed to Slytherin's to embrace Suzette.

"I'm so relieved." I'd breathed, once we'd pulled out the hug. "So relieved it's over."

"Me too," she'd told me. She didn't look quite as pristine as usual - her unbraided hair rippled over her shoulders and her cloak was tied a little haphazardly - but the pink flush in her cheeks made her look, if anything, even prettier than ever. "Y'know… I never really told you, but I was terrified that you would be Petrified."

"You were?" I'd asked, feeling ever so slightly choked up.

"Of course!" She said earnestly, and then broke into a smile. "I mean, I couldn't face the strain of being a single dragon parent."

I laughed, and I felt like I'd never want to stop. Hogwarts had never felt better, never felt more like home. I even felt a pang of warmth for Filch, watching as he rocked a newly recovered Mrs Norris in his arms and graced her with a very flat rendition of _'Speed Bonnie Boat.'_

The best part, though, was Hermione waking up.

Professor Dumbledore himself gave me the news. He drifted down from the teachers' table, offering vague congratulations to each of the House tables in turn. I watched, slightly befuddled, as he stopped beside Richard Finch-Fletchley, just a few feet away from me, and spoke with him for a minute or so. I couldn't hear above the din of hundreds of excited voices, but whatever he'd said had had Richard leaping away from the table and striding down towards the doors with a beaming smile on his face. My heart had leapt, but I didn't really let myself believe it until he dawdled to a stop in front of me as well.

"Ah, Miss Granger?"

"Um - yes, Sir?" I blinked, at once hopeful and a little intimidated.

He gave me a kind smile. "As much as I hate to tear you away from this delectable feast, may I perhaps suggest a trip to the hospital wing?"

My breath caught in my throat; beside me, Additri squeezed my hand. "Sir - do you mean-"

The light blue eyes twinkled. "I think that Madam Pomfrey has finished administering a certain Mandrake Draught, yes."

I'd scrambled to my feet and, amongst a few whoops from my housemates, literally raced out the door and to the hospital wing. I emerged there, breathless but beyond excited, and my eyes fell immediately on Hermione's bed.

And there she was. Awake. _Alive._ Sitting up in bed, sipping something from a goblet in one hand and reading a sheet of parchment in the other. For the first time in what felt like forever, her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes alert.

"Hermione!" I exclaimed, rushing over to her bed and throwing my arms around her without hesitation. "I'm so, _so_ happy you're OK."

I'd felt her shoulders shake as she laughed. "I'm quite happy about it too." She gave me a warm smile as I pulled out the hug. "It's really good to see you again, Diana!"

But I bit my lip as the memory of our last conversation came flooding back. "About before...I'm really, really sorry. I felt so awful after you were attacked, and the last thing I'd done was scream at you."

"We screamed at each other," she'd said reasonably, setting down her goblet on the bedside table. "And I was hardly the best listener."

I shook my head. "That doesn't matter now." My eyes fell on the parchment in her left hand. "What's that?"

"It's about the Basilisk." She said, offering it to me. "I ran off to the library later on, after we'd had our fight. I suppose you could say I was struck with sudden inspiration."

I skimmed the page, then looked up at her. _My sister's mind is amazing_. "You figured it out. You worked out the monster of Slytherin... "

"Well, your hint helped." She said. "I might not have thought of the Basilisk if you hadn't told me about what you'd heard!"

I recalled being chased by the Basilisk, that terrible scraping sound, and shuddered. "You know, I think I've found the one magical creature I'm not too fond of."

Her smile slipped just a little then. "Diana, about the dragon…"

I'd nodded. "I know. It was a massive risk to take, and I know things can't go on like they are at the moment." I paused, and considered telling her about the kidnapping attempt and the duel that ended with _'Incendio_ ' - but that seemed like too long and complicated a story just then. "We're figuring out what to do next."

Hermione looked at me for a long moment, then gave a resigned smile. "Well, it isn't like I haven't done my share of dangerous things, too." She'd said. "Please be careful though, won't you?"

I'd nodded. "I promise."

At that point, we'd been distracted - a few beds down, Justin Finch-Fletchley was getting to his feet, taking his first slightly unsteady steps, with the help of his brother. Richard had given me a broad smile as they hobbled past.

"Good to see you up, Justin!" Hermione had called.

"Oh, thank you very much!" He'd replied, beaming, and I'd noticed how eerily similar his voice and mannerisms were to his brother's. "I'm good as new! Although I do feel awfully guilty about suspecting Harry, especially now I hear he's actually gone and killed Slytherin's monster!"

"Don't worry." Hermione told him. "I don't think Harry will hold a grudge."

"We'd better get down to the Great Hall, Justin." Richard had said to his brother. "I know Ernie will be dying to see you."

They'd both given us a little wave as they continued out the hospital wing, and Hermione had looked to me, slightly quizzical.

"There's a feast going on." I told her. "And I have a feeling that there are a few people who are going to be _very_ happy to see you."

She'd smiled. "Well, then we'd better not keep them waiting any longer."

And so I'd helped her out of bed, handed her her cloak, and watched as she too tested out her newly-awakened legs. After getting Madam Pomfrey's final seal of approval, we'd made our way down to the Entrance Hall. Hermione had peeped her head around the the door; I'd watched her eyes light up as they fell on the Gryffindor table. And after one last hug, she pushed open the double doors and raced into the Great Hall.

"You solved it!" She'd yelled, running towards her friends with the elation and pride clearly ringing in her voice. "You solved it!"

_It's funny_ , I had realised as I watched her. I'd always thought of my sister as bookish, sensible and collected, and myself as more unreserved and a whole lot less grown-up - but as I watched her jet towards her friends, screaming congratulations at the top of her lungs, I wondered if we really weren't so different after all.

* * *

The next day, everyone gets up late, tired from the absurd brilliance of last night's feast. No one feels like doing much except lazing around, and for once we can afford to, given Professor Dumbledore's extremely generous cancellation of the end-of-year exams.

"You got very lucky with that." Hermione tells me, with a touch of her old severity, as we stroll across the grounds together.

"I know," I say, honestly. "I promise I'll work harder next year...not get so distracted."

"Maybe don't raise any more dragons in the woods." She suggests - and then breaks into a smile. "I will say, you've probably got enough Care of Magical Creatures practise to ace the O.W.L. now."

I laugh, and wonder why it's taken Petrification for me to really appreciate how great my sister is. She's seemed so much lighter, freer, since waking up, as if she'd carried the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets around with her like a physical weight. Since the revelation about the Basilisk, she's let it go.

Of course, that revelation hasn't given us all the answers. If anything, it's handed some of us even more questions.

"So, Manticore and Dugbog and the others...were they Death Eaters?" I ask Suzette and Atticus, later on that day, as we sit together on the grassy slope leading up to the castle. "We know that the Chamber was down to You-Know-Who, but where does that fit into this?"

"Maybe they did want to use Krispy for more attacks." Atticus says. "Or maybe they were possessed by that memory thing too?"

"But," Suzette frowns. "What I don't understand is why they'd think they needed another monster. I mean, Riddle already had the King of Serpents...what's Krispy to that?"

No one has an answer. Still, the kidnappers haven't been back; the first thing we did after their failed attempt was set up a triumvirate of warding charms, courtesy of Gwaine, Lance and Sybella.

"You should've just asked me in the first place, Suz." Lance had said, once they'd finished. "I mean, I knew about it anyway."

This was a decent point. To be honest, it was slightly embarrassing that neither of us thought of it. "Well, maybe…" Suzette shrugged. Then she gave him a sly half-grin. "But you had a few other things on your mind, didn't you?"

She looked pointedly towards Sybella, who was in conversation with Attie, and then back towards her brother, and Lance had mussed up her hair for her cheek.

"Well, maybe we'll never know." Atticus says now, snapping my attention back to the present. "But they haven't come back, and even if they did, Krispy's definitely up for defending himself."

The picture of his first flame flashes in front of my mind, and I can't help but smile. "Actually, I kind of want to go and see him now." I say. "You two want to come?"

"Wish I could, but I'm going to practise Quidditch with the lads." Attie says, getting to his feet. "We're making the most of being able to use the pitch without a teacher breathing down our neck again!"

"Quidditch over dragons?" Suzette shakes her head. "You're truly insane, Atticus."

"Nah, that would be you, Suz." He grins. "The girl who can smart-mouth dragon kidnappers and possible Death Eaters, but's too scared to fly on a broom."

"I am not scared to fly on a broom." She insists, flicking back her braid with an air of superiority. "I just have... better things to do."

"Oh, of course." He grins knowingly. "Anyway, see you guys later?"

"Yep!" I wave, as he starts to walk away.

"Hope you fall off!" Suzette yells after him, and I hear a roar of laughter from his retreating figure.

Afterwards, Suzette and I slip into the Forbidden Forest as we've done so many times before, and make our way to Krispy's territory. It's hard to believe it's the same place where we overheard the hooded man talking into the mirror, where we fought off the kidnappers; today, the Forest is idyllic, straight out a storybook, the with the trees in full bloom and the canopy above filtering soft green-tinged light over us.

"Krispy!" I call, pushing between the last of the trees before the clearing. "Krispy!"

He's outside the shelter, tending to his scales in the sunshine trickling between the trees. At his talons I spot a pile of rodent-sized bones - clearly, he's been hunting for himself successfully. As I approach, he pauses in his preening and swoops over to meet me, hovering in front of my face. His wings are strong and supple, and he stays airborne with clear ease.

"You've got so big!" I tell him. It's true. Krispy's wingspan is nearing three feet. He's still a long, long way off a Sunbeam's adult size, but he's definitely not a baby anymore.

I turn to Suzette, about to marvel at his size to her, but stop when I see her expression: pensieve, tentative. "Diana…" She begins slowly. "D'you think now might be a good time to talk about what we're going to do with Krispy?"

I sigh. She's right to bring it up. The warding charms are strong and effective - but they aren't a long-term solution. I inhale, remembering the promise I made my sister last night. "Yeah, I think so."

Suzette nods. "He can't stay here."

"I know." I say, biting my lip. It's not just the worry about the kidnappers coming back - it's Krispy himself. He's no longer a baby; the first flame means he can hunt for himself, cook his own food - as evidenced by the rodent bones. It means independence. In the wild, this is when he'd leave the nest, seek out his own fortune.

I wonder if their mothers find it hard to let them go.

As he settles on a low-hanging brach, my fingers trace the line of his wing. "You don't need me anymore, do you?" I whisper to him.

"He'll always need you," Suzette tells me. "Just... maybe not on a day-to-day basis."

"He could survive in the wild, now, I suppose…" I say, a little dubiously. The thought of just releasing Krispy into the British countryside doesn't fill me with eagerness.

"Well, I did sort of have an idea…" Suzette says.

I look up. "You did?"

"We have an estate down South, in Hampshire. It's already got all the warding charms - Muggle repellents and everything, most wizarding estates do. Plenty of woods for him to hunt in, a little lake for fish… I think he'd like it there."

I gawp at her. Surely, she isn't suggesting…"But Suz - your parents-"

"Oh, my parents?" She asks. "The people that currently have a Wampus wandering around their estate in France? Who spent their honeymoon chasing after Sphinxes in Egypt? The ones who raised Lance?" She grins at me. "Somehow, I don't think they'll mind."

I rush forward and hug her tightly. "Does this mean we can visit him?"

I feel her shoulders shake as she laughs. "Why else do you think I suggested it?"

We pull out the hug, and I run my fingers over Krispy's scales. "Looks like this isn't really a goodbye after all." I tell him. He blinks slowly, and I swear I see something like happiness in his eyes. As I turn away, I'm struck by a sudden idea. "Suzette?"

"Yep?"

"Well, since this is the first time in a while that our free time hasn't been totally eaten up by dragon-sitting, maybe you'd like to have a swim in the lake again?"

She smiles. "Sure - and I promise, I'll try my hardest not to drown you."

I look to Krispy and drop on last kiss on his head, then turn back to Suzette, mirroring her grin. "Great," I say, as we start to walk back in the direction of the great lake. "And I'll do my best not to drown myself through sheer incompetence."

* * *

There is one final twist, the icing on the cake. Greg and I are sitting in the Hufflepuff common room a few days later, avidly discussing Fire and Fang, more than a little oblivious to anything around us besides the splendor and majesty of dragons. The rest of our housemates buzz about, oblivious to our enthusiasm, but I'm not particularly offended our shared obsession isn't of high importance to them.

They all look happy. Justin Finch-Fletchley is awake and well, talking with an equally jolly-looking Ernie MacMillan. His brother, meanwhile, sits in eager conversation with a pink-cheeked Blossom; every now and then I hear her faint giggle drift over. It looks like she's not the only one of my housemates who might have caught someone's eye; pride blooms in my chest when I notice Juliette - her ever desirable corkscrew curls tied back into a ponytail, faux amethyst gemmed necklace (a present from one of her Muggle cousins, she told me) glimmering as she winds it round her fingers methodically - deep in conversation with Kelvin Blaire, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

"Wouldn't it be amazing to actually write something like this?" Greg's saying, as I pull my eyes away from spying duty and turn back to my friend. He's got an animated liveliness about him whenever dragons are the topic I can't help but grin at. For a brief second the prospect of revealing Krispy - _me and Suzette's very own dragon!_ \- flashes to the front of my thoughts, but I beat it back. We almost got into enough trouble as it was keeping him; it isn't fair putting that sort of pressure on Greg too, especially now Attie's in on the secret.

"Oh, yeah!" I nod enthusiastically. "Hermione's friend, Ron," I smirk slightly as my mind drifts to my sister's tone whenever she talks about him - namely how she always sounds like his exasperated and ever-loving wife - "Ron has an older brother who works with them in Romania. That'd be like my dream job...I'd love to be able to travel like that, just meet as many dragons as possible!" I confess.

I'm about to venture into another monologue about which countries have the heaviest dragon populations - my hardworking inclinations have been driven entirely towards dragon research now I have a blissful six week rest to look forward to (no change there, then) - but I pause when I realise there's someone stood off to the side of where we're nestled, patiently waiting so they don't intrude on our conversation.

Turning, I recognise them instantly - the tanned complexion, honey eyes constantly sparkling with interest, mess of uncontrollably wavy black hair - as Javier Ramos, one of Greg's dorm-mates.

"So you're a fan of Thaddeus Lightclaw, are you?" He asks, nodding towards Greg's copy of _Fire and Fang_ lying open on the table. Realising we've paused, he edges forward to join the conversation - I notice that this makes Greg curl in on himself a little, typically nervous of his intentions. I give him a reassuring smile.

"Oh, of course!" I nod to Javier, blushing as it hits me how stupidly obsessive I might've sounded. "His work on dragons is just...the best!"

_Poetry, right there, Granger._ I can always count on myself to turn into an incoherent lunatic at the subject of _Fire and Fang_.

"Well, y'know..." Javier runs a hand through his tangled hair then and looks around the common room for a second before turning back to us. The traces of an accent - I want to say Spanish, but I could be generalising - have picked up a little in his voice, a tell-tale sign of nervousness. "I could get you his autograph, if you like?"

_What?!_ I feel my eyes widen comically, and I only just about fight back the urge to let my jaw drop on the floor (Greg isn't quite as fortunate). "You...you could do that?" For a second I wonder if I have asthma, what with how breathless I'm sounding.

"Yeah..." Another tentative nod. "He's my _abuelo..."_

" _Abuelo?"_ Greg echoes in confusion, but I'm beyond words now. My Spanish is by nowhere near as good as mum's, who was always a whiz when it came to picking up new languages; she basically keeps us all safe during foreign holidays - but, despite my ineptitude at all things bar having an alright grip on German, I know what ' _abuelo_ ' means.

"My granddad." Javier corrects quickly, and I feel like I'm about to fall out my chair in excitement (again, I just about manage to stop that - even if my limbs have decided to start revolting against me). Greg looks like he's one step away from passing out, what the way his mouth's hanging open and his eyes are bulging in amazement.

As I manage to shake off the shock everything begins to click into place.

I've read Thaddeus Lightclaw's biographic notes a dozen times by now, all of which mention his particular fondness of warm climates, which led to him settling in Chili and marrying a Ms. Julieta Olivares (a young witch renowned as a prominent up-and-coming figure in the insectoid creature world), with whom he had eight children - five girls and three boys, before relocating to the coast of England eighteen years later when their first born (Willard Lightclaw) was fifteen.

"Sorry I didn't mention it earlier..." Javier continues, brow creasing as he stares at us apologetically. "At first I didn't really want everyone knowing - I'd heard the horror stories about what Harry Potter went through when he first arrived here; thought about how people would just want to know me because of him - and after I'd told Ben and Kel it just...slipped my mind."

"Don't apologise!" I smile broadly. "With my sister's reputation - helping save the school and all that - I know how it feels!" I take a deep breath before continuing, calming a little as Javier's posture relaxes and he looks considerably relieved by my response. "But...you don't have to do that, Javier! I mean...only if you want to-"

"Wouldn't have offered if I didn't." He cuts me off with a grin and I flush slightly at my own quick apology. "Besides, _Abuelo_ loves more people being enthusiastic about creatures! They're what makes him happiest, so hearing about like-minded folks will cheer him up! I'm seeing him this summer, anyway," he adds. "We're having a gathering - a lot of the family's gonna be there - so I'm not exactly gonna be stretching myself to ask!"

"Oh...well, only if it's not too much trouble." I say, desperately trying to conceal the excitement I know's on the verge of pushing me into a musical number, what with the sheer awe I'm feeling in the wake of his kindness. After so many Richardson face-offs I'd almost become accustomed to the idea anyone with familial notoriety in the wizarding world - even if it was just an astoundingly inflated sense of self-importance - would be conceited and condescending. Either that or if they were related to Thaddeus Lightclaw they'd view me as some crazed hyper-fan. But maybe it's just the nature of my new environment to constantly be proving my assumptions wrong?

"'Course not." Javier shakes his head, eyes flicking from myself to Greg now. "Diana and Greg, right? That's the names I need to ask for?"

Greg nods eagerly. "Please!" The word comes out so quietly, I'm amazed our fellow 'Puff even hears him; but some people's ears are sharp enough to deal with Greg's apprehensive tone. I partially hope Chance will develop this ability, but I don't want to be too optimistic.

"Yeah..." I nod slowly, still aware I'm grinning like an idiot. "Thanks so much, Javier!" I feel as if I could hug him, I'm so overwhelmed, but that might be overkill. We've spoken fairly often and - like myself - he's mad about creatures (granted his surprising depths of knowledge are beginning to make sense now), but usually I spot him in the company of Kelvin and Ben Hale alongside Ravenclaw's Xander Callisto and Farlan McCarthy.

"Like I said, no problem." He sheepishly raises his eyes upwards. "I kinda promised Ben one, so I figured it was only fair to let some fellow creature lovers in on it! And if you can't trust your housemates, who can you trust?" He adds with a laugh, one I return, before he nods politely at both Greg and myself, turning to make his way back over to where Ben Hale's sat with Megan Duffy from the year above.

My eyes are drawn to a familiar cloud of sugary pink at the mention of trust.

Minnie Mercury looks enviably pretty with her hair wound back into a loose ponytail, dressed in an oversized Quidditch jumper, legs propped up over the edge of a chair as she chats to a fellow member of the house team. It's a burly young man who I'm vaguely sure I've seen hanging around with Gwaine on the odd occasion I've spotted him around the school, who has a shock of chestnut coloured curls and a lip-centre piercing I stupidly thought was a scar the first time I saw it.

Looking at Minnie now, my old curiosity returns... the way she shut Richardson down so easily with that mysterious mention of a bargain, back when I stupidly confronted him by the lake... I suddenly remember her appearance in the Hog's Head on the night we bought Krispy's egg - in the excitement of raising a dragon, I hadn't ever given much thought to why she was out at the pub so late, or to the identity of the boy she was accompanied by. But it wouldn't be fair to ask her - she made it pretty clear she didn't want to spill, and in any case she's done enough, defending me to him in the first place. I have a strong urge to knit her something with my newfound prowess in thanks - a little goal for me to have over the summer, I decide.

"Can you believe it?" Greg squeaks, drawing me back into our conversation. "We're going to have Thaddeus Lightclaw autographs!"

"It's amazing!" Excitement rears its head in my stomach, and I feel a grin slide over my face. I'll have to save the unsolved mysteries for next year - news like this needs undistracted celebrating.

* * *

Finally, too soon, it dawns: the day we're set to leave.

Of course, Hogwarts chooses to look exceptionally beautiful. It's a cloudless day - the sky a smooth, rich blue - and atop its hill, the castle gleams proud in the sun. Summer's arrival has made everything vivid with colour, and the great lake laps its shores gently, methodically. Everything's in full bloom, which only makes the thought of leaving it worse.

Still, leave it we must. In the dorm, I fling my robes and textbooks into my trunk, and then carefully nestle _Fire and Fang_ in the corner, much to the amusement of my room-mates. Once they've finished laughing at my discriminatory packing policy, I hug Blossom, Additri, Juliette and Ruby, and everyone promises to stay in touch over summer.

"You've gotta keep us updated on your dates with Richard, haven't you?" Ruby smirks at Blossom, who blushes pink and throws a pillow at her head.

"And we need to know about all your flying exploits, Ruby!" Juliette tells her, once she's lobbed the pillow back.

"Yeah, tell us if your brother gets stranded in a tree again." Additri adds.

We all collapse into giggles, and I realise how much I'm going to miss this round, cosy dorm, and the four girls I share it with.

Afterwards, we trickle down into the common room; I get friendly goodbyes from Roderick, Daniela and Minnie, and I'm just about to go and search out my roommates when I notice a small figure hovering near the edge of the room.

"Hey, Greg!" I call, and he looks around hopefully as I approach. "Could you write to me?"

His face floods with happiness. "Of course!" He beams. "And- and you'll write to me as well?"

"Sure! We need to compare the Thaddeus Lightclaw autographs we'll have, don't we?" I grin, still totally dumbfounded by that amazing turn of events. He nods eagerly, equally amazed.

Afterwards, I slip out the common room - alone - and walk over the school and its grounds, taking full advantage of my newfound, Basilisk-free safety. I say goodbye to the library that gave me so much dragon-related wisdom, the greenhouses where I've been attacked by many a Spiky Bush, and the lake where I met my best friend. The Forbidden Forest - which I'm pretty fond of by now, I have to say - gets a long wave, and for the castle itself I just stand and look at it for a moment, struck with the same awe I felt the first time I saw it.

There is one thing that we're not leaving behind, though. And I know that the Hogwarts Express has been running for a very long time, but I think that we might just about be the first people to sneak a dragon onto it.

It was Atticus who figured it out - how to get Krispy on the train home without being noticed, that is.

"Any ideas?" I'd turned to him, after Suzette and I had both come up blank yesterday. "We need to sneak him back to Suzette's estate on the train without anyone seeing or hearing him."

Even as I said it, it sounded like an impossible question to answer, and I was all ready to sink into the pits of despair. Instead I watch a smile spread over Attie's face.

"I've got it." He said, and ran off without another word.

"Wha-?" I'd gaped after him. Suzette had shaken her head, but not two minutes later he was back - armed with the large rucksack I'd remembered from King's Cross, back when we first met.

"Remember my dad's signature spell?" He'd puffed, grinning at us. Suzette looked intensely confused, but I screwed up my face and recalled our first conversation, when I'd been amazed by the amount of stuff he'd been able to carry.

_'You got all that in your pocket?'_

_'Ever heard of the Undetectable Extension Charm?'_

I looked down at the rucksack - nondescript and ordinary - and then up to Attie's face.

"Are you saying…" I asked slowly. "That we can just put Krispy... _in your bag?"_

"Well...it's about five times as big on the inside as it looks from the outside - so if you think that'll be OK with Krispy, then…"

And as it turned out, it was more than OK with Krispy, who curled up comfortably inside its depths within a minute. In fact, all it took to get him inside was to drop in his beloved mirror.

Now, the three of us stand on the crowded Hogsmeade platform, awaiting the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. When I peer into the rucksack, now sitting at Suzette's feet, I see our dragon sleeping soundly in the vast swathes of fabric.

"Does he look OK?" Atticus asks as I surface. "He have enough room?"

I nod, getting back to my feet. "Loads of room! It's so bizarre," I say. "Like the Tardis!"

"The what?" Suzette frowns, and Atticus blinks blankly.

I shake my head, grinning. "Pure-bloods."

"So, the plan is just to take him back on the train and set him loose on the estate?" Atticus asks.

Suzette nods. "Yep! There's plenty of room, and I don't think my parents will mind. But are you sure you're OK with me taking your bag?"

"Of course!" He nods earnestly, then opens his mouth in a much more tentative manner, like he's unsure of what he's about to suggest. "Maybe- maybe you could give it back to me some time over summer?" Suddenly, his cheeks glow scarlet. "I mean, maybe. Or not. Y'know, you can just keep it. Yeah- um-"

Suzette smiles. "I'd love to meet up in the holidays." I can't help but notice how pleased he looks at that, but just when I'm about to shoot him a knowing look, inspiration flashes over Suzette's face. "In fact, you two should come over to the estate. You can see Krispy when he's all settled in!"

" _Yes!"_ I exclaim. "That'd be amazing, Suz… I can't wait to see him again; it's going to be so difficult not seeing him everyday…I know I'm gonna miss him so much. Er - and you two, of course." I add, and they both laugh.

"Always second to a dragon," Suzette says, shaking her head despairingly.

A little way across the platform, a figure catches my attention; I recognise it as Sybella by her billowing golden curls. She waves enthusiastically to the three of us, then beckons Atticus over.

He peers after his cousin. "I'd better go and see what's up." He gives both of us a broad smile. "I'm really happy I met you guys...and, y'know, it was cool to save a dragon from kidnapping with you and everything!"

I laugh, and he reaches out to hug me briefly. "Have a good summer, Attie!" I say, patting his shoulder fondly.

We pull away, and his eyes fall on Suzette. For a second there is a pause. Then, much more slowly and tentatively than he did a moment ago, Atticus embraces her as well.

"Umm - take care, Suzette." He says, his words a little shaky.

"Yea- yeah, you too, yeah." She mumbles, in a voice that sounds flustered and wrong-footed and very unlike hers. After a moment, they too pull out the hug. I can't help but notice that they're both wearing similarly awkward smiles, and swallow a grin of my own as I stand and wait for them to break eye contact.

"Hey, Attie, Sybella's still beckoning you." I remind him, after about five seconds.

"Huh?" He starts. "Oh, right, yeah! Of course!" He grins at me, slightly sheepishly. "Well, hopefully I'll see you both soon! Have great summers!"

"See you soon!" I call after him, as his waves one last time and disappears off through the crowds.

I turn to Suzette, and notice that she's smiling to herself, her light-brown cheeks dusted with pink.

"Not long till it leaves, now." I say, checking the clock on the wall.

She looks a distracted, a little dreamy. "Hmm?"

"The train, Suz."

"Oh - yeah, of course!" She nods suddenly, blinking several times. "Hey, I'll see you in a minute - I'm just going to go and say bye to my housemates. I didn't see them all this morning." She says, giving me a little wave and slipping off through the crowds towards a little huddle of girls in green-striped ties.

I take a second to sit back and people-watch, bask in the sound of a hundred goodbyes. The platform is crowded and crazy, full of students running back and forth, checking luggage, doling out hugs. I tilt my head towards the sky and let the sun's rays trickle over my face.

But despite the warmth, I feel suddenly cold; the hair on the back of my neck prickles upwards. In the back of my mind I can tell that someone's watching me. I look through the crowds to the other end of the platform and see a lone figure: tall, wiry and imposing, pale-skinned with a shock of dark hair.

Richardson.

I stop still. For a long moment the amber eyes hook onto mine, and the mouth twists into a familiar smirk.

My stomach curdles with intense dislike. Somehow, I have a feeling that this is just the beginning.

"Diana?" I drag my eyes away from Richardson, and they fall on the far more welcome sight of my sister.

"Hi," I say, running my hand over the back of my neck to smooth down the shivers. "What's up?"

Hermione smiles at me. "I just wanted to check you were OK before we get on the train. Is there anything you need?"

I'm about to tell her there's nothing when I stop. Because looking at her now, I'm struck by a sudden realisation - there's something I want to do, and seeing Richardson's smirk has only made me all the more determined.

"Actually, there is." I say. "There's someone that I'd like you to meet."

"Oh? Who's this?"

I take a deep breath. "You'll see."

Taking my sister's hand, I lead her through the groups of people on the platform. Ahead, I can see a knot of first-year Slytherin girls, and a tall, dark-haired one breaking away, spotting me and waving me over. It only takes a few moments for me to wave back, come to a stop in front of her, and turn to my sister.

"Hermione, this is Suzette."

For a moment there is silence. Then my best friend smiles warmly and extends her hand. "Hi," she says, her voice bright and friendly. "It's really great to meet you!"

And after a second's pause, Hermione also breaks into a wide smile. "You too, Suzette." They shake hands, and happiness leaps in my chest. "I've heard so much about you!"

"All good things, I hope, Diana?" Suzette throws me a grin, eyebrows raised.

"What else?" I tease.

"Diana talks loads about you, too." She says, turning back to Hermione. "I've heard tons about how great you are at magic!"

Hermione blushes faintly. "Well, I wouldn't say _great-"_

"You nailed every one of your exams last year and you were disappointed when they were cancelled this time round." I butt in. "It's safe to say you're great."

"Wish my brother had a bit of your modesty," Suzette laughs, shaking her head.

"You're from France, aren't you, Suzette?" Hermione asks, moving the subject away from her academic prowess.

Suzette nods. "Indeed I am! We're heading back there in a few days."

"Well, maybe we can see you there! We're going to France this summer."

I snap to attention at this piece of as-yet unheard news. "Wait, we are?!" I quiz her.

Hermione nods slowly, her warm brown eyes clouded with confusion. "Yes… didn't you know?"

"No! When was this decided?!"

"About six months ago!" She shakes her head and laughs, a little despairingly. "Don't you pay any attention to Mum and Dad's letters?"

"I might've been a little distracted lately…" I confess, thinking of my Krispy-filled brain. "But anyway, that's perfect! I'm sure they'll be up for meeting you there."

Suzette chuckles. "Looks like we're barely gonna be seeing any less of each other this summer than we have at school!"

"Hope you don't get sick of the sight of me!"

"No chance," she grins.

At that, the Hogwarts Express whistles impatiently, and students begin to flood towards the train.

"I'd better go and find Harry and Ron," Hermione tells me. "I'll see you later, Diana!" She wraps me in a quick hug, and then turns to my friend. "And it was really nice to meet you, Suzette."

"You too!" My friend says, and when I look at her face I see a touch of pleasant surprise in her smile, almost as if she can't quite believe that she's had a friendly conversation with a high-profile Gryffindor.

"We'd better get going, too." I tell her, grabbing my trunk. "Be careful with that bag!"

"Don't worry," she says, picking up the rucksack and slowly shrugging it on. "With Krispy inside, I'll guard it with my life."

I laugh and link her arm, and we start to make our way across the platform. As I walk with my best friend up towards the train to home, I realise just how happy I am that the letter came.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is going to be a mini-essay...sorry.
> 
> So that marks the end of our first fic! We plan to write five more of similar(ish) length to this one, for each of the rest of the Harry Potter books. Whether or not we'll get that far is another story, but I'd certainly like to try! 
> 
> We're trying hard to make it as canon-compliant as possible (minus the obvious addition of a very prominent non-canon character - I guess that does come with the sibling fic territory) but they will diverge a bit more as they go on, especially as we're introducing our own major OC villain in the next instalment (they have been hinted at - briefly - in this story). It's also going to be based very heavily around our OCs rather than canon characters - that's just what we're most interested in. Canon characters will still be there, but much more in the background as we develop our own lot, human and dragon alike (that's the closest to a spoiler I'm going to get!). This story was mostly just for establishing our major OCs (most of them anyway...we still have a few big ones to come) - the next stories will head much more into action/adventure and maybe a bit of romance. Should be fun!
> 
> We've tried really hard to avoid the typical pitfalls of writing a sibling OC - ie. writing a Sue or self-insert - and aimed to make Diana likable but with genuine flaws, as well as a believable sister of Hermione's without being a carbon copy. We also really wanted to do a believable inter-house friendship with a really great Slytherin, in honour of my co-author, the wonderful psychedelicbubblegum, herself a Slytherin (I'm a Gryffindor, for anyone interested...hopefully my lion bias didn't show too much!) We thought it was important to show that Slytherin traits like ambition and cunning are not inherently bad. And we wanted a Hufflepuff protagonist because attributes like kindness and loyalty are wonderful and underrated...plus, Puffs are awesome and they really need some love.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much to everyone for reading, and hopefully see you again in a few months!
> 
> Tl;dr - This is the first of a series of (hopefully!) six stories, and all being well the next one should be out in a few months. Thanks so much for reading!


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